


Hither and Thither

by sheswalkinginbeauty



Category: 365 days - Fandom, 365 dni
Genre: 365 DNI - Freeform, 365 days, Anna Maria Sieklucka, Blanka Lipińska, Erotic Literature, F/M, Laura x Massimo - Freeform, Laura/Massimo, Michele Morrone, and that smut, but the characters tho, that movie plot was sht
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheswalkinginbeauty/pseuds/sheswalkinginbeauty
Summary: She saved him, in so many ways a man could be saved.
Relationships: Laura Biel/ Massimo Torricelli, Laura/ Massimo
Comments: 134
Kudos: 287





	1. Hither and Thither

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing this because I refuse to acknowledge the problematic plot involving two strong, very attractive, and very hot characters. I hate wasting their alpha vibes. And I couldn't sleep. This is my take. I haven’t read the novel, (I’m still deciding whether I should) nor do I speak Polish or Italian. NOR have I ever been to these countries. Do message/comment if I got the details wrong. I live for the constructive criticism. Enjoy :)

* * *

#  **HITHER and THITHER**

**| a destra e a manca |**

**| tu i tam |**

_(phrase) (also hither and yon)_

meaning back and forth; here and there; in various directions, especially in a disorganized way

* * *

The Don was talking about something.

The gentle, raspy voice was contrary to the cunning, dangerous man his father could be.

"Molto bene, molto bene, Mario." His father exclaimed in that giddy tone and slapped the man's shoulder, sitting in the front passenger seat. The man gave his father's hand a reassuring squeeze.

He couldn't help but wonder if his father's animateness was a good or bad thing. Being in the family business, the terms were sometimes... interchanged, by certain and _normal_ people anyway.

"What would we do without him?" His father, the Don Torricelli, continued, looking at him for acknowledgment.

"A couple of fun things, for a start." He jested, earning a chuckle from his father and Mario.

Mario was his father's most loyal friend and confidant. He was there ever since he can remember. He was practically family, almost like a second father to him. But he was the strictest man he knew, even stricter than his father. Though, not more dangerous.

He gave a deep sigh and settled in his seat, switching his attention to the familiar scenery of Cefalú.

The familiar streets and alleys blurred as they passed. Locals and tourists alike flooded the white sandy beach. Their big umbrellas providing color to the already-rich scenery. Food carts swarmed the shore, providing refreshments in the scorching Italian summer heat. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the heat.

Everyone one except him.

If there was one thing he hated more than disloyalty and disobedience, it was the fucking heat. He almost didn't want to come today because of it.

But he had to.

 _"It's part of learning the trade."_ Mario reminded him this morning— just as he had done on more than one occasion.

Not that he wasn't interested in what his father does—which he was, a hundred percent. But there was this, sort of, defiance. Knowing that the choices he wanted to make have already been made for him, gives him a compelling urge to rebel. To break free and try his own luck in the business.

He wanted to step in, take over, show his father what he's capable of. Show him, without words, that his son was ready to take over. He wanted to see the notorious Victorio Torricelli actually grow old. Because, he was aware that a lot of people in their way of life don't and won't have the same option.

But, like a young cub, he's shunted of his efforts.

_"Learn how to walk first before you can run, figlio."_

Despite his personal afflictions in anything that involved emotions, he loved his father. He revered him more than anyone else. His father might be the only thing in this world he truly cared about.

And money, _of course_.

The car stopped at their destination; a restaurant in the middle of a marketplace, right at the heart of the town. He exchanged a disapproving look with Mario through the rearview mirror. It was unusual for the Don to pick such a public venue for a meeting.

He was not hiding his objection and tried persuading his father to change location since the day he knew.

_"Pa, it's too public. You can't be serious."_

_"Ah, figlio. Always worrying about me."_

And why shouldn't he?

When your father's the most feared, most dangerous man in Europe, you learn to sleep with a gun in your hand.

As accustomed, they waited for a few minutes for their detail to secure and check the place. He usually assisted them, but under this weather?

_No fucking way._

Mario and his father fell into a quick conversation about when they were teenagers. His dad had retold countless stories about his and Mario's prime. Just two privileged Italian legacies, against the world.

"You remember those girls at the beach?"

"Ey! Didn't you sleep with one of them?" his dad chirped.

"No, I didn't!"

"You did! You son of a bitch!"

"I slept with two!" Mario carolled, making him think of something gross.

They laughed, that good-natured laugh, he could aways expect from them.

He only half listened and continued to ogle at the mundane events happening before him.

The crowd was a river of people from all walks of life. A riot of colorful clothes under a huge tent of different loots and merchandise.

Everyone seemed to move from all different directions. The cacophony of blabber outside reverberated even on his tinted windows. Heat radiated their jolly faces. He could easily spot the tourists by their awful hats and big ass cameras hanging around their neck. And the locals, with their loud and rude gesticulation.

There was music coming from the makeshift stage on the beach. A few sunburnt, drunk, and barely clad guests were swaying to the bass. If everything went as planned today, they could stay the night here and he could slip to the rave.

His eyes fell on the bookstand a few feet west from where their car was. A couple of skateboard punks wheezed through the stand. One of them nudged the corner of the table and mountains of books toppled on the sandy pavement. He could hear the owner screaming at the kids, who didn't even turn back. His face was crimson with anger, a book threatening to fly from his hairy hand.

A petite woman with dark hair scrunched under a floppy hat, approached him. Her light skin was a fair contrast to the blue summer ensemble she's donning. She squatted down to help the poor man.

It startled him for a second.

Kindness has always been a mystery to him.

To him, kindness was the coercive reaction and result to fear.

Nothing in this world has been ever genuine—he realized that from a very young age.

 _Must be a foreigner._ He thought. _No local could be that generous._

He watched as the man, who appeared flushed all of a sudden, stood up, books recovered under his arms. The lady, who still had her back to the car, offered her gathered books back to the vendor. She must have said something because the man was nodding in a very vigorous manner. She then proceeded to slide her fingers on the display of books.

The merchant was still staring at her with a stupid smile on his wrinkled face. The woman picked up a book. She showed it to the man who nodded and grabbed a bag from under the table.

He observed, with an amused and curious expression as the people passing by the tent all did a double take at the woman. Some women narrowed their eyes, as if envious while all men have sheepish grins on their faces.

He sat straighter in his seat.

_Turn around, baby girl._

The woman was and completely in her own element. He found himself transfixed by the way she's skimming her slender fingers on the book stacks

He caught himself and frowned.

_What the fuck?_

"Cosa pensi, Massimo?" His father asked.

He whipped his head back to his father, and tried to look anything but distracted.

A knock rapped Mario's window, saving him from his father's inquisitive brow. Outside, Domenico, his half-brother, gave them an assuring nod.

Mario got out first, before him and his father. Perspiration trickled down his neck in an instant. His hair clung in clusters on his nape.

He cursed.

He couldn't understand how anyone could enjoy themselves when the weather was dry and as hot as a desert. He could feel the gravel smoldering beneath his shoes. He might as well ask one of his guards to fry an egg on the sidewalk to prove the point to his father.

His father knew how much he hated the Italian summer heat.

"Whoa! Hot! Hot" His dad smirked at him, a teasing glint in his eyes. He was fanning his hands with an exaggerated flair before an umbrella came to his aid.

He groaned and rolled his eyes at his father. Taking pride in himself that he was the only person allowed to do so.

Six men from the entourage, stood beside them as they walked towards the restaurant.

Upon entry, they're welcomed by the loud blabbers and aroma of Mediterranean dishes.

"Buon pomeriggio."

A tall, lean, olive-skinned woman greeted them, her dark eyes lingering on him the most. He removed his sunglasses and tucked in on his dress shirt.

He heard the woman's breath hitched.

He couldn't help the smug smirk that formed on his lips.

Mario stepped in. And the woman bowed her head, as if finally recognizing the dangerous men before her. In an instant, she cast her eyes down and moved out of the way.

_May be I'll have my fun with her later._

Domenico lead them to a wooden staircase and outside the balcony. A couple of diners were there, seated under their own umbrellas. Cocktails, appetizers on hand.

_Great. More parching heat._

He walked to a secluded tent in the corner, away from the impertinent eyes and ears of civilians.

Two men were already sitting under the canopy, waiting, looking angst.

As they should be.

They're negotiators for a new venture his dad was looking into.

They lowered their eyes as they shook his father's hand. Their adoration was plain on their faces.

But were they real though?

He learned that love and fear, like good and bad, have interchangeable terms.

_In this lifestyle, anyway._

Their men spread out and around the perimeter. Their authoritative presence was alarming some of the guests, who didn't hesitate to up and left.

His father and Mario sat down across the two men. While he maintained his distance.

This particular time, he wasn't allowed to join them. Considering what happened last week, he's banned from all negotiations until further notice.

He stood over the railings to past the time and asked for the binoculars from his guard. He occupied himself with the arid and suburban landscape of Cefalu. The heat was emanating from all surfaces and buildings. It's making him even more thirsty than he was

"Get me a bottle of beer. Ice cold. Have that beautiful lady receptionist bring it up to me."

Alek, his guard ever since he was sixteen, nodded and left.

He was looking out into the water when he heard the heightened pitch of his dad. He put the equipment away and observed.

From the pronounced scowl on his father's face, he could assume that it won't be getting any better. His future plans to sneak out later this evening was automatically canceled.

His father stood up and raised his hand in a dismissive wave.

That was the end of the discussion.

He looked pissed.

But as soon as the Don met his gaze, the old man smiled, the corner of his eyes shining with mischief.

"Fucking opportunists." His father cussed, clapping him on the back.

"You want me to talk to them?"

The Don shook his head and glanced back. "Mario's handling it." He gestured to the binoculars. "We don't want you threatening them away again, do we, son?"

He simpered, "But it's so much fun."

"Figlio, sometimes, you have to compromise. We have to make sure that we have certain people on our side exactly when we need them to be."

"I don't think you need anything or anyone else anymore."

His father laughed, removing the binocs from his face. "Have I thought you nothing?"

That's when he realized what how he must have sounded.

"Non accontentarti mai, anche se hai tutto, Massimo." His dad reiterated, forcing another smile from him. "Don't ever-"

"Don't ever settle. Even if you have everything." he repeated. "I know Pa, I know. My bad."

His father grabbed his shoulders so he was facing him. "And you do your best not to forget it."

He beamed down at him. "Sì."

His father cupped his face, like when he was a kid. The dark eyes, feared by many, gleamed with a raw and familiar with emotion.

And he knew why; he has his mother's eyes. His father often told him that he could still see her stubbornness alight in them every time they talk. He placed a hand on his father's forearm.

"You're-" He heard a sharp whoosh of wind and his father's sentence abruptly stopped. The paternal smile faded and a shocked expression replaced it.

His mind and body went numb.

Behind them, someone shouted. And chaos breaks.

He held his father. One hand on his shoulder, the other on the gushing wound staining his chest.

_What's happening?_

He was trying to keep them upright, but he felt weak, like someone's, _something_ , was sucking the life out of him. His father slipped from his hands and dropped on his back.

His world went into a complete standstill.

A tight, burning pressure permeated from his torso and he fell down. Arms splayed out, the bright, yellow sun, blinding him.

The men were running, their guns poised in the air. The guests on the balcony scrambled down the staircase, screaming their heads off. He saw a flash of blue before he heard Mario shouted different orders to the men.

He closed his eyes and tasted the rust on his tongue. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound ever came. A pain shoot from his side, like a thousand hot electric needles pricking him. His muscles were tense. He was sweating, but at the same time felt like someone poured a bucket of ice cold water on him. He coughed and thick, warm liquid spurted out of his mouth.

_No._

He became aware of his heartbeat slowing down, its weak thumps vibrating in his ears. The excruciating pain doubled, paralyzing him even more. His breathing became shallow, fast, gasps. He heard his name shouted over the dry wind.

Domenico.

Domenico crouched down and shook him. He slapped his face, his expression livid.

He and Domenico loved wrestling and kick-boxing, since they were kids. Being older and bigger than Nico, gave him a huge disadvantage; he always wins. Nico doesn't have a chance.

He almost wanted to taunt his brother and point out that this is the first time he couldn't get up to beat his ass.

"Wake up!" He grabbed the lapels of his shirt, pulling him up. "Don't you dare die on me!"

He winced, both from the pain, shaking his entire body and his little brother's trembling voice.

Idiot.

_Leave me alone, Nico._

He never felt so exhausted.

_Papa, Go to Papa._

He wanted to sleep.

_Leave me be._

He just wanted to fucking sleep.

Domenico stopped shaking him. Somebody from behind grabbed his brother away. Domenico cried out, struggling to get back.

_Get him out of here. Get both them out of here._

He closed his eyes and swallowed. He heard voices, so many voices. But they're muffled, like someone put cotton in his ears, drowning him out. He could feel each footfall vibrating on the ground. Somehow, he couldn't feel the heat he felt from it earlier.

He only felt the cold.

_Good. I hate the fucking summer._

Everybody seemed to have abandoned him.

_Finally._

He wanted to rest.

_Time to rest._

But then, a shadow fell above his closed eyes, blocking out the blistering sun. A warm, soft hand touched his, raised it and pressed it on his chest. He felt it ran over his face, leaving a tingling, warm impression.

It surprised him.

Without warning whatsoever, the warm, comforting sensation pulled him back. Away from the cold, drab void sucking him.

Then, the warmth left him, as swiftly as it came.

_No._

_Come back._

It was a struggle to open his eyes. But he did.

He blinked and saw someone, _a woman_ , hovering over him.

Why does she look so familiar?

Then it hit him.

_The woman in the bookshop._

The moment his eyes focused on her, she seemed relieved.

He felt it resonate through him.

Somehow, she appeared brighter, more unbearable to look at than the fucking sun above them.

She removed her floppy hat, placed it behind his head and used it as a cushion. She smiled down at him. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear what she was saying.

He concentrated on her dark eyes, and even darker, almost, raven hair, flowing freely over the wind. Her lips were pink and soft as a carnation in full bloom. Her nose, tall and prominent. Her jaws, chiseled to look at but felt so delicate to touch.

He felt the remaining air knocked out of him.

He wanted to reach up and caress her beautiful face, but his body wasn't cooperating with him at the moment. Because everything hurts.

_Everything fucking hurts._

The woman worked above him. He couldn't tell what she was doing. But his eyes bulged out of its sockets when he felt her, pressing her hand, hard, on his side.

He looked down and saw her holding a blood-soaked napkin on his torso. A sharp pain lanced through him, making him bite on his tongue. He closed his fist around hers.

_Please, stop._

The woman cradled his head, soothing him. Her sweet, but firm voice, subdued by the pain. "We have to keep applying pressure. You're alright. You're okay."

The discomfort from his side was making it harder to think. He saw colorful spots flashed before his eyes, merging and splitting into thousand circular patterns. He let out a strangled scream and held the woman's wrist.

_Make it stop._

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts. But I have to, okay?"

Her face swam back into focus again, clearer than everything and everyone else.

Her hair was falling around her face. He wondered what her hair would feel like wrapped around his finger. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear and see her blush.

He wanted to see it more than anything else.

"It's okay, you're gonna be okay." He heard her cooed through the haze before then she roared, "You work for him?!" Her voice as sharp as her face.

"Ye-yes." He recognized Alek's voice, the only one in his men who can speak English.

"Okay!... Bring me a flat surface... No… I don't care! Break the table, if you have to! He needs to be lying down!"

He never heard someone yelled at his men like that, not even his father, not even him. This tiny woman was barking orders to his people like she fucking owns them.

_Atta, girl._

He felt his body spasm out of control; he was trembling again. This time, it's more unnerving than the last. The consciousness, he was trying his best to hold on to was slipping.

He was falling through the empty, dark space again; the space he knew was reserved for people like him.

"Hey! Hey! I'm here! I'm here!" she shouted at him, raking her fingers through his hair.

_That felt good._

"Look at me."

And he did.

Her eyes were enthralling, it felt like they were the only thing keeping him here. It felt like it would hurt more to look away.

 _What color are they?_ He mused.

A flashback appeared before his eyes- a forgotten memory. He's eight again. He's baking. His mom was laughing beside him. He missed her laugh. She was letting him whisk the melted dark chocolate for the cake. She dipped her fingers in the bowl and bopped him on the nose.

_Mamma._

"No, no no." he heard the raven-haired woman again. Her voice, disembodied like she's talking from behind a veil.

The wonderful slender fingers stroke his jaw again, like she did those books. "Stay with me." she said. Her tone was the borderline between a plead and a direct order.

He wanted to laugh. Nobody orders him around. But he did as he's told.

"That's it. Eyes on me." She uttered with her big, penetrating eyes.

 _Her eyes were blue. No. Green. Blue and green-a dark teal._ _Like the color of a giant sea storm and the Mediterranean sea._

"Where's that table?!" she howled again.

He kept his gaze on her, trying to name and decipher all the blues and greens in her eyes.

If his life wasn't ebbing away, he would've found the situation ludicrous. The great Massimo Torricelli was finally taking his time gazing at someone else's eyes for the very first time.

And the last time.

_How fucking twisted is that?_

"Stay with me. Stay with me. They're coming." She whispered. One hand was holding his head up, the other was still in the gnashing bullet wound, applying pressure. The blood spilling from him was staining the blue romper she's wearing. He felt sorry. Why does he always have to destroy beautiful things?

 _I'm sorry._ He wanted to say.

Dying really does bring the firsts out of people.

"Hurry up!"

He stared at her beautiful, angelic face, committing everything in his memory.

"Stay with me." she murmured again, flicking her eyes to his face and wound every now and then.

His dry lips cracked into an agonized smile. He wanted to comfort her, tell her it's alright.

But he knew.

He'd always known.

From the very first time he pulled the trigger.

_Nobody's coming to save the devil._

He stopped believing in God decades ago. But in these few moments of limbo, he realized that this- seeing her for the first and last time- was the cruelest punishment he could ever have.

He clutched her hand with his shaky ones, rallied the remaining power in his body and choked, "Mio Angelo."

And the darkness welcomed him, like the prodigal son that he was.

* * *

**5 years later.**

**Warsaw, Poland**

> _-I'm so sorry. I'll come over tomorrow. I promise, B._

She received the reply a few seconds later:

> _-Girl, it's okay. I have my wine and a half naked Paul Wesley on tv. It's fine, I'm not thinking about_ _whatishface._

She texted back, guilt shrouding her:

> _-Are you sure it's okay?_

Again, she didn't wait a second for her response.

> _-I am! Go and kick their ass, Laura._ x

The text elicited a smile from her. She shoved her phone in her bag and storms the elevator.

Furious was an understatement.

She's supposed to have dinner with one of her best friends tonight. But because David Sawicki can't do his job properly, she's stuck here for the next hour. She heard the echoes of her most prized heels on the floor tile. Her fists clenched beside her, her lips pursed in a straight line. She felt the anger emitting like, from her skin.

The employees on either side of her parted and flattened themselves on the walls. She made her way to the board room, avoiding anyone's judgmental gaze.

_They don't know what happened. Let them look._

She reached the heavy wooden door of the conference room and pushed. There were only four people in the room.

"Good evening, Miss Biel." Oskar, the PR manager greeted. She returned his warm smile and sat on the empty swivel chair next to him.

James, the head of their security sat in the nearest chair by the door. Marissa, the senior head's secretary was eyeing up the bastard sitting across her. But Sawicki was ignoring her. He was ignoring everyone in the room, except her.

She met his belittling gaze.

"Have you packed your shit already, Miss Biel?"

She sneered back at him. "Shouldn't you be asking yourself that question?"

Before he could make a comeback, the doors opened and the senior head entered.

"Good evening." Hayden Marek addressed the room, his eyes glued on the stack of folder he's holding.

Without further ado, he took his seat at the center of the table. "Now, can anyone please explain to me what the hell happened yesterday-"

The room was quiet. Her eyes remained on Sawicki, challenging and unfaltering.

Marek raised his voice. "-And how the fuck did it happen?!"

Sawicki was quick to point fingers—as the child that he always has been. "Why should we ask Miss Biel? Excuse my language, but one needs to have the balls to have this job."

The room turned to her.

"Miss Biel?"

"First of all, it's not my fault." She started, cool, calm, and collected.

"Listen, Ma'am-" Sawicki butted in.

"I haven't finished yet." She hissed at Sawicki. "As I was saying Mr. Marek, it's not my fault. I'm in charge of bookings and reservations. It has never been my job to temper rowdy customers."

She narrowed her eyes at Sawecki. "And I think you should explain to us, why in the entire building there are only two security guards in the building? I remember explicitly suggesting that we need more. Since the band is Beatles level famous. I remember telling you that at our briefing, Mr. Sawecki."

Beside her, she could feel her friend trying to hide his smile.

"I booked the band at our hotel on purpose. They're at the top of their game and we need the publicity. We gave them and their team the best rooms. We even closed down the bar and buffet room to give them their privacy. Me and my team went to them ourselves and asked for anything they might need. Even if it's not part of our job."

She continued, holding everyone's attention. "Everything was going smoothly, until a roadie got past security and caused a scene. One of the members got mad because we promised them privacy."

Sawicki was speechless. He knew the story himself, having happened before his eyes.

"The roadie sent messages, bragging how she got in. And before we knew it, a legion of slutty teenagers bombarded the lobby. The band barely got out. If it weren't for the efforts of my team. I dealt with the press and strategized a new approach so we wouldn't lose our loyal customers and patrons. I'm proud to say that we are now booked for the next _four_ weekends." She slid the reports to Marek, whose eyes widened at the numbers at the bottom part of the paper.

_Yes, keep the ugly, greedy man fat with money._

Marek averted his annoyance to Sawecki. "You, in my office. Right away." And he stood to leave, James and Marissa followed him.

She leaned forward, elbows flat on the table. "This is exactly you need balls for."

Sawecki glowered at her before turning his leave.

Oskar clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Good job, girl." And he too left, leaving her alone in the big, cold conference room.

She gave him another amiable smile, hoping it'll ease the tension in her chest.

Unlike many, Oskar is different. She felt at ease with the old man. Oskar was probably her only friend in this building. Most of them either feared her or wished her out.

They were unsuccessful with that last part.

But she has to admit, she's tired of this. Men constantly disparaging her and her achievements.

Because of what? Her gender?

Unlike those dumbasses she met at med school, she presumed that men in the hospitality sector would be more... non-discriminatory. But no. All men appear to be the same sensitive, egotistical and easily threatened rats she experienced them to be.

Yes. Even her boyfriend fit the bill, sometimes.

Men always tell society that they need strong, intelligent, independent women. But what they really want were cheerleaders. Someone to boost and feed their ego.

She exhaled the deep breath, she was holding.

_Calm down, Laura._

To distract herself, she checked her phone for the very first time since lunch.

Still no messages from Martin.

"How surprising." she scoffed.

She has never been the clingy type, but a simple short text after a long day at work would ease her stress.

She and Martin had been dating for four years already.

He came up to her at a hotel event and made an actual fool of himself to get her attention. She thought it was cute. Two years into the relationship, she sold her apartment and moved in with him. One year of living together, he proposed. And to this day, she didn't know what came over her to say yes.

For the past few months, they've been having more arguments. His reason? She's spending way too much hours with her work and no time for him at all. And she felt guilty, because it's true.

Thus, she's been trying to redeem herself. She tried to come home early, prepare his food and do other stereotypical duties of a good fiancé. But still felt... insufficient. Like something was missing.

Olga was having none of it. She hated the man. Unlike Bianka, she has never warmed up to Martin, even after all theses years. _"You fool, don't settle for that lazy, bald freak. You're not his maid. Let him wash his own smelly gartered underwear."_ and she added, for good measure,

_"Passion is essential to every relationship, as important as love."_

Olga was always the voice of reason- whenever she wanted to be,

But she loves Martin.

She felt passionate about him.

She loves him.

_Right?_

If that wasn't love, why did she buy their tickets to Sicily for her birthday weekend? Why did she booked those romantic getaways? Martin was pretty excited about it.

That's love.

"I love him." she convinced herself. "You love Martin, Laura. Stop overthinking it."

The door creaked open again and the maintenance guy went in, pushing his mop cart. The man stopped and apologized.

"Przepraszam, Miss Laura. I thought it's empty."

"No, no. It's fine. I was just leaving." She smiled and gather her things. "Have a good night."

"You too, miss."

The floor was now empty, except for the cleaners who waved in her direction. She waved back, sincere and friendly.

As she was about to press the elevator button, when Oskar called her from the doorway of his office.

"Laura?"

She turned. "Mmm?"

"Marek told me that he wants to meet with you tomorrow. His office at 4."

"What?" She couldn't help but the thrill in ringing in her voice. But she toned it down. "Why?"

Her friend jiggled his eyebrows at her. "I don't know. Marek called me to say that Sawecki no longer works here. The General Manager position is open."

Laura squealed and hugged the man. She has not been working her ass off for four years to settle for the beta position. She knew she deserved so much more than what they're already giving her.

"Thank you, thank you!"

"Hey, all you sweetheart." Oskar kissed both her cheeks. "As an early gift, I have my driver take you home."

"What, no-"

"No buts. Besides, I have a date. A very hot date."

"Oh! Where'd you meet him?" She teased.

"Now you know that I don't kiss and tell, Laura sweetie."

"Kinky! I love it."

"Now get your ass out of here, Conrad is already in the lobby."

"Thank you so much." She enveloped him another tight hug before hurrying down the elevator.

Her mind was still reeling from the possibilities of her promotion. She went over her mental list of the changes she could make to the management. This was probably the best birthday present she's ever had in years.

As he promised, Oskar's driver was waiting for her. Conrad has always been shy around her. He was standing by the passenger door and opened it as she approached.

"Dziękuję Ci." She smiled.

The man turned pink and nodded.

She didn't need to tell him the directions since Oskar has offered to take her home countless of times. Most of those times were, when Martin forgets to pick her up.

It wasn't a long ride, only a good thirty minutes—including the traffic. She could take the cab, if they weren't too damn expensive this time of year. If the bus fumes wouldn't kill her, she would literally take the bus every single day.

She was in her third year of MED school when her grandmother fell ill and died. Due to debt and budget constrictions, she's forced to quit the one thing she cared about the most.

She loved medicine, she loved studying it. The lengthy explanations, crucial step by step procedures, the jargons appealed to her.

With the death of her grandma and her quitting medicine, she had a relapse and fell into a mild depression.

That's when her body developed it.

She was out with Olga that day she first fainted. She thought it was only panic attacks but it became more frequent. She consulted her doctor and found out she has Supraventricular Tachycardia. In simpler terms, she has a heart palpitations. That meant that her heart was beating more than it normally should. Her condition causes her to, sometimes, pass out and hyperventilate. This prevented her from engaging in strenuous exercises, smoking, stressful situations and caffeine.

She hated it. Everyone who knew has treated her like she's something fragile, like, she'll break at the tiniest push. It was disconcerting. So, she decided to keep it a secret, that even her parents didn't know.

She had no plans to tell Martin because it might affect their relationship—which it did. He accidentally found out a few months after they moved in together.

She couldn't tell anyone at work, except of course, the HR manager. She couldn't let assholes like David Sawicki get the slightest indication that there's a chink within her armor.

The only persons who knew were her college best friends, Bianka and Olga, and her doctor.

Her phone buzzed on her pocket.

Martin.

Finally.

> _Hey honey, I'm coming late from work. Don't wait up for me._

Wanting to prove to herself that what she felt for him was still valid, Laura smiled deviously. She glanced at the rear view mirror to make sure Conrad wasn't looking where wasn't supposed to.

She unbuttoned her blouse, down to the last three buttons. She recorded a video and captioned it with:

> _Aww. But they miss you._

When he didn't reply in the first three minutes, she sent him another. She hiked her skirt to her upper thighs, widened her thighs and snapped a picture.

> _I miss you._

She was feeling hot that she slid her fingers on her inner thighs. She kept her moans to herself.

She waited for his reply, but it didn't come. Not even when she reached their apartment.

The frustration was twisting her abdomen, evil and needy. Martin's coming off late ever since... S _he couldn't remember._

A few weeks ago, he's required to put extra hours for the insurance firm he's working for. It was a slap to her face; she's finally having a taste of her own medicine. But she didn't pressure him on it. Nor complain to him about it. She loved a hard-working man. Besides, that way, he could finally get off her back for doing the same.

But as a consequence, she's left… dry and unsatisfied. With only her toys and fingers for company.

She sighed and threw her bag on the hook, and shook her hair out of her bun.

She took a quick look around.

_At least, he left the apartment clean before he left this morning._

Martin was the messiest person she knew. Seriously, how hard is it to throw your wet towel in the dryer? Or put the scissors back where he got it from?

The knot in her abdomen tightened and she bit her lip. She went to check on her phone.

Still nothing from Martin.

She called him, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Oh, fuck it."

She poured herself a glass of wine before going to their bedroom. Even though she's alone in the apartment, she closed the door as a form of habit.

Martin doesn't like it when she pleasured herself.

She pulled out her special drawer and grabbed the black toy hidden among her sweat pants. The sight of it alone made her insides clenched in excitement. She took s huge gulp of wine and began to undress herself.

Her fingers traced her curves, slowly. The pads of her thumbs brushed over her nipples. She let out the moan she's been holding in the car before she switched the vibrator on.

The buzzing filled her ears, making the fire in her belly burn even more. She grazed it over her bra. Her nipples erected in their lacy confine. She removed the clasp of her bra, to her own slow pace, and shimmied out her drenched undies. She lay on the bed.

There were certain advantages of studying medicine. Aside from treating other people part, _this_ was one of them.

She was gasping now. Her hand was rolling the toy over the sensitive spot. Just the right amount of roughness, if not, more. Something Martin could never do, no matter how many times she told him how.

Her moans rocked their stilled apartment. She arched her back as she pumped against her own palm, using her legs and feet to meet her strokes.

She bit the back of her hand as she felt the white heat dripping from her. Her back landed back on the mattress and she waited for her heart to slow down.

But she knew she could take more.

God.

She could take so much _more._


	2. Search and Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My LWW readers are gonna be so bummed. They know I only update once a month. LOL. If you’re here, sorry guys! I still love you. Claire and Owen are still my OTP.
> 
> I am overwhelmed by the support. Thanks guys! Also, I rewrote the first chapter. I just couldn’t write in present tense. I feel weird about it. I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind. Feel free to reread it. 
> 
> ALSO, I saw that Anna Maria’s eyes aren’t brown in the movie, but according to the web, they are. Someone help me out cause that detail matters a lot!
> 
> HANG ON, my lovelies. We’re about to get real.

**Sicily** **,** **Italy**

He was staring at the ceiling fan for what almost felt like hours. He was hoping, in some way, that the blades whirring above could distract him from his overworked brain.

He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to.

By some reason, the nightmares were more constant these past few weeks. He would wake up in the middle of the night, sweating; his mouth in a half scream. His hands instinctively going to his side, to the scar that hurt the most. He was expecting the warm, thick liquid seeping out of him, draining his life. One spill at a time.

Sleeping was not an option anymore.

And as the stressful nights increased, thinking of _her_ became the automatic alternative.

The only alternative.

As it had been for the past five years.

He closed his eyes, recounting the only and best part of _that_ day.

The raven-haired beauty.

 _Stay with me._ Her voice resounded.

For five years, he's haunted by her image, the sound of her voice, the gentle warmth of her hands. For five years, he's been trying to fill the void, she unknowingly opened. And for five, long years, he's been scouring around the world to find her.

No one could confirm that she was real. Except Alek whose description of the day solidified his determination to find her.

She saved him.

All hell broke loose once they exchanged gunfire. A stampede ensued in the marketplace. Alek managed to drive through the commotion, the woman was still with them. She refused to leave him, even as his other bodyguard, Theo, threatened her. Even then, as they reached the packed hospital.

They rolled him to the emergency room. But en route, due to blood loss, organ failure and shock, he went into cardiac arrest. Alek told him how, without hesitation, the woman jumped into the hospital bed, straddled his chest and revived him.

She had single-handedly brought him back. No medical instrument needed.

When he woke up a few days later, the woman wasn't there. Nobody could tell him who and where she was. She didn't leave anything behind. The hospital CCTV cameras didn't get a decent snap of her. The swarm of victims from the stampede, and their relatives didn't help either. He didn't fret about it. He thought that with his connections, he'll find her in a heartbeat. He was complacent, he could find her.

How wrong he was.

From the way she acted professionally, they speculated she was a doctor or a nurse. Or something related. He ruled out her being a doctor, because she looked no more than 30.

 _Unless she's some kind of prodigy_.

He began his search again in the hospitals in Cefalú. Then to local clinics, schools, then volunteer groups, and laboratories. When she wasn't, he tried the nearby town. And the next town. And the next town. And the next. The whole country. The continent. It took a whole solid year.

Sensing that he might've misjudged something, he changed his focus to airports, then to hotels. The tourists that visited the country, spanning to three to six months that summer. He started with Cefalú again. But, even that was still unsuccessful.

It was arduous work, he was aware of it. It's about to be the craziest thing he'd ever done (and he did plenty). But nobody had the gall to call him crazy. Not to his face, anyway.

To be honest, he almost wanted to give up. He wanted to accept defeat for the first time in his miserable life. Without a single progress over the years, he had questioned himself if she was even real. But whenever he did, he would try to distract himself on the endless queue of ladies on his bed.

But the harder he tried to forget her, the memory became more vivid, more _real_. All his efforts to forget her will be futile. He's back to square one. He'll eventually find himself scanning the reports his people will give him the next day.

What was it about that woman that makes her so damn hard to forget?

Her tenacity?

Her kindness?

Her willingness to save a stranger?

Save _him_?

The questions were making him restless all these years. He wasn't used to _not knowing_ , _not having_ the thing he wanted. He figured it'll all be answered when— _not if_ —he finds her.

Sometimes, he would daydream of the day he'll finally find her. What would be the first thing he'll do? He didn't know a single thing about romance. He reminisced about those sweet things his father did for his mother when she was still alive. All the things he could remember from his 8-year old memories.

He figured, he'd thank her first.

_Wouldn't that be a first?_

He could never remember the last time he said thank you to someone. Or if he ever did.

He'd ask her out to dinner?

Give her flowers?

Take her shopping?

Give her jewelry?

All that romantic shit he swore he'd never do.

He recalled the old conversations he had with his father. He'd tell him how he met his mother, how she made the notorious Don Victorio Torricelli puny in her arms.

 _"_ _Women are heaven for the eyes and hell for the soul."_ His father would tell him.

And he would add, in a cheeky tone. _"And purgatory for the wallet."_

But he had a tingling, annoying feeling, she'd be worth every euro. Hell, she could spend all his money and he wouldn't care less.

He had never had a more disturbing thought than that.

The woman next to him stirred and snuggled closer to him. She kissed his chest and opened her eyes.

For a moment, he anticipated the dark blue-green eyes that tortured his dreams and reality. Instead of the haunting teals, the eyes staring back at him in wonder were deep violet. Like amethyst —cynical, majestic and arrogant. A true reflection of the woman beneath.

He looked away, disappointed.

She was beautiful, perfect, powerful, flawless in every way, even he could admit that. With her dirty blonde hair, tan complexion, long legs and lean physique, men and women bow at her feet.

She was a good diversion, a good release for all the pent up frustration of his existence. He could tell that it was the same for her. For the first few years, anyway.

"Awake already?" She asked against his shoulder, clutching the blanket keeping her decency. "How can I never tire you out?"

He stretched his arms above him and under the pillow to his head. He watched the fan blades again, nonchalant to the kisses she started. Her hand started trailing downwards, tempting. But not tempting enough.

"Fermata."

"You weren't saying that earlier." She said between kisses. Her nails raking his abdomen, down, down.

There was nothing more irritating than disobedience. He clasped her wrist. "I said, stop."

He threw the covers and picked up his pants, phone, and his gun on her bedside table. He didn't need to look at her to see or feel her violet eyes digging holes in his back. He was buttoning his shirt when she spoke.

"Ti amo."

He sighed, his fingers couldn't close around his buttons faster.

"Ti amo, Massimo." She repeated, a little louder this time.

He raised his eyes and unsurprised to see hers, glistening. "Don't make this hard, Anna."

She sat forward, the blanket, no longer her concern. It slid down her breasts, pooling down her wide hips. "Why not?"

_Fuck, why are women so complicated?_

He knew he should've gone to Magdalena or Althea instead.

He didn't answer her. He grabbed his suit jacket over the chair, but before he could put it on, he heard her said,

"It's because of her isn't it? _That_ woman."

He stopped, but remained his position- his back to her.

He heard her get up, her naked feet treading on the wooden floor. To him.

"You thought that I wouldn't find out that you're still looking for her? After all these years?" Her voice, croaked yet poisonous.

He muttered a curse. A jealous Anna was as dangerous as a hungry lioness.

"Don't you think it's time to give up, Massimo? It's pointless. You will never find-"

The remaining patience in him snapped. He faced her, his hand immediately closing around her throat. He felt a sense pride surge in him when he saw the flicker of fear in her violet eyes.

"Don't."

Anna grabbed the hand holding her throat and faked a confident smirk.

"You will never find her." She enunciated in a tone meant to dishearten him.

He tightened his hold on her jaw. And the fear in her eyes pulsed.

He hissed, truth staining his words, "And _you_ will never be her."

Her eyes widened and he swore he heard something inside her iciness, break.

He released her.

Anna stared at him, her eyes watering. He should be sorry. Or apologize, or feel remorse, feel _something_ , whatever people fool themselves with. But he doesn't. The cavity where his heart would be was only a hollow, corrupted emptiness.

_Fuck manners._

_Fuck tradition._

_Fuck Mario and his dream of marrying a Torricelli to a Rizzuto._

"I can't do this anymore." He said.

And this time, he knew he meant it.

He passed her and put his jacket. He headed towards the door, not the very least concerned that Anna might point a gun on him.

She, of all people, knew better than that.

The mansion was dark and empty, but her men lurk every corner. He went down the grand staircase, the candles on the walls were his guide. He heard and saw his and Anna's guards huddled around the table in the foyer. They were knee-deep in a game of poker. And from the boisterous shrieks of her men, his team was losing. Domenico was laughing, but when he met his eyes, he cleared his throat. The men scurried with their spoils, stuffing them in their pockets.

The car was already outside. Alek opened the door for him as he checked his phone. Beni, his IT guy, sent him the reports he's gathered for the day.

He flipped through the profiles of women as they drove through the night. All of them were raven-haired, has dark teal eyes, aged 25 to late 30's. Single women, married women, lesbian, bisexual.

What if she changed her hair now?

Or what if she was wearing contact lenses that day?

What if he already found her profile, but missed it?

Worse, what if she's married? Or has a kid?

He exhaled a sigh of frustration, leaned his elbow on the door and pinched the sides of his nose.

 _Where are you_?

Beside him, he could feel his brother smirking at him.

Without taking his eyes off his phone, he warned. "If you don't stop peeking, I'll gouge your eyes out with the same toothpick you're using."

Domenico tittered with amusement, but looked away anyway. Unlike everyone else, his brother still supported his foolish pursuits.

He was caught up with his task when Domenico reminded him,

"Mario's asking me if we're still going to Rome tomorrow... er in a few hours?"

Ah. Fuck.

He glanced at his clock, _3:12_.

"Tell him we're leaving at 5. We'll be back here at 11."

"Va bene." Domenico simpered, chewing on his toothpick.

Massimo closed his eyes and her image intruded his darkness again. Her delicate steady hands. A pair of eyes that were the darkest of cyans, resembling the storms at sea. And her radiant smile that was nudging _something_ , waking _something_ in him.

_I'll find you._

_I'll find you._

_Whatever it takes._

* * *

**Warsaw, Poland**

The sandwich her assistant left for her was sitting idle, cold on her table. It reminded her that she hasn't eaten her lunch yet. Or her breakfast.

She's been working on her lateral and sales report she thought she could give to Marek today. If Oskar was correct (he usually was), she'd be getting that promotion today. Though, no one in this company comes close to her credentials, she felt that she should still secure it. She hadn't stopped since last night. Even when Martin came home at 1 in the morning.

Her nails tapped against the keyboard in unwavering determination. The classical piano music she's listening to was helping her concentration. She worked on her keyboard as if they were piano keys, an instrument close to her by heart.

She's only two words away when there's a knock on her door. From the corner of her eye, she saw her assistant peeked her red head behind the door.

"Miss Biel?"

"Yes?" She answered, without taking her eyes off her screen.

"There's someone here."

_Oh, God. Please don't be Martin._

They had a little argument today. Again. This time, it was about the empty carton of milk he keeps putting back in the fridge. They had a little scream fest, thus the reason for her lost of appetite. She was finally seeing the pig Olga was describing. But still, she felt regretful when he stormed out of their apartment. In a day, they'll be travelling to Sicily and she wouldn't be caught dead going alone on her own birthday. Let alone, be _alone_ in an airplane.

She frowned, "Who?"

Her assistant opened the door to reveal her long-time friend.

The second her eyes landed on the baggy sweatpants, she knew something was wrong.

"Bianka!" She pushed her chair and strode towards her. She pulled her into a tight hug and nodded to her assistant, who closed the door behind her.

If Olga's the craziest and loudest person, Bianka's always been the most timid, the prettiest. She's the heart of their little group, their valuable asset. Put Bianka in front of the group and they're sure, bouncers would let them in, people would part and give them way. Men, women craned their necks whenever she passes by. They never pay for their own drink in the bar— much to Olga's pleasure— whenever Bianka was with them. She lost count of the times Bianka saved their asses with her power of persuasion and flirting. She had the charming face and the body of a supermodel that everyone envies. Mile-long legs that look good in any dress, plump lips, a sun-kissed complexion, shiny brown hair that went past her waist.

But instead of the straight brown mane, was a disheveled nest for a hair. Bianka was a mess. Her clothes were baggy and wrinkled. It's a wonder how she got past security looking like that.

"What happened, B?"

Instead of answering, Bianka returned her hug and sobbed.

"There, there honey. Come, sit." With her still in her arms, she sat them on the nearby couch in her office. "Is it Russo, again?"

Like a plaguing curse to every beautiful woman, her friend decided to fall in love with yet another jerk. Though, this time it was an upgrade from the alcoholic she had before. This time, it was a user. They broke up not more than a month ago, but she tell could from the tousled appearance of her friend that she's not over it.

Bianka raised her head from her chest and shook her head. "No." She snuffled. "Well, not entirely."

"Oh honey. How many times do we have to tell you." She wiped her friend's tears and offered a handkerchief from her pants pocket. "He's not worth your tears. Nobody is. You're too beautiful for him anyway."

She continued, her tone half joking, half serious. "Can you imagine your children? I wouldn't forgive you if you ever had his children. I mean, poor little things Just, biedne małe rzeczy." She clicked her tongue.

Bianka let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, we will have ugly children."

"See? Cheer up B."

Bianka sat up, grabbed her hankie, all the while keeping her head down.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you yesterday." she apologized, the guilt creeping up her stomach.

"I told you, it's okay. I know how your work is important to you." Her friend took a lighter tone and met her eyes. "So, did you kick Dexter's ass? Or whatever his name was?"

"Like you have to ask?" She chuckled and sat with a leg under her, her hand behind her bun. "You're now looking at the general manager of the Regent."

"Shut up! Shut up! Are you serious?" Bianka's face brightened with pride. She and Olga knew how long she has been waiting for that promotion.

"Well, not yet. The Senior asked me to go to his office later today to discuss yesterday and _something_." She replied, applying the quotation marks on the word "something".

"Well, I'm so proud of you. You deserve it." Bianka beamed at her.

And an idea hit her. She stood up and grabbed the handset from the phone on her marble coffee table.

"Sophia?" She called her assistant. "Won't you come over here, please?"

Within seconds, Sophia came at her door again. "Yes, Miss Biel?"

"Please book the same flight for Bianka Antos. She's going with me to Sicily tomorrow. Put it on my card. That's Bianka, with a K and Atnos as A-T-N-O-S. Check my book for her details.

Bianka's turquoise eyes widened. "No, Laura, no."

She smirked before adding, "Could you also go with Conrad to get my things in my apartment? Send it here. I'll talk to Oskar."

Sophia nodded, her hand still on the doorknob.

"That would be all Sophia, thank you."

And her assistant left.

"No, Laura. I can't let you—"

"It's already done. Sophia is very efficient. We're leaving 7 am tomorrow." She waved her cellphone, showing the confirmed flight. "See?"

"I can't, Laura. You can't"

"Yeah, I can." She insisted.

"I have—"

"Please. It's not like you can't bat your eyes at your boss, who, I think is the perfect match for you." She teased, before getting up to check on their reservation on her laptop.

_Better cancel that queen-sized bed too._

"What about Martin?"

"We had a fight this morning. I don't think he's coming." She shrugged, unfazed.

"Why? What about?"

"Nothing. Something stupid." She replied with a resigned tone.

Bianka patted the empty space next to her, the spot she vacated not moments ago. "Tell me."

Bianka's always felt happy with her and Martin's relationship. She was their cheerleader. Unlike Olga, who was more vocal about her dislike and disapproval. When Martin proposed, Bianka cried as she congratulated her while Olga didn't talk to her for three days. Bianka's always been the one person she could go for a Martin-related advice. If there was someone she could vent out right now, Bianka was the right person.

"I'm not so sure if I should still marry him." She admitted, quite surprised by how steady she sounded.

"Why?"

"I… I don't know." She shrugged again. "Am I crazy? Or this is just cold feet?"

Bianka gaped at her, her smothered eyes, deep and pensive. "You don't love him anymore?"

She seemed startled by the question and answered in reflex.

"I do." And she repeated for good measure, as if it'll make it true. "I do."

Bianka cocked a groomed eyebrow at her.

Deep down, she knew. She had a feeling she had always known. Something about last night and this morning was the final straw. She sighed.

It was Bianka's turn to pull her in her arms. "Oh, honey."

"I'm okay. I'm okay." She appealed, hugging her friend back. "I just have to be sure."

They fell into a comfortable silence, until she heard Bianka mumbled,

"If you want my two cents, yeah, you should break up with him."

She gave a bittersweet laugh, pulled away and held Bianka's shoulders at arms length. "Who are you and what have you done to Bianka, the manager of Laura and Martin's fan club?"

Her friend looked relieved. "I'm happy if you're happy… Now." She clapped her hand on her knees and got up, enlivened of a sudden. "If I'm going with you to Italy tomorrow, I got some persuading to do. What was I thinking going here dressed up like this?"

She chuckled, "Glad to have you back."

"Do you have clothes here?"

Being the Sales Director, she's privileged enough to have her own office.

The wide window allowed her a view of the garden. Her office has its own powder room. A three-seater mid century blue couch and two white armchairs laid for her guests. Displayed on her walls were gold rimmed glass shelves lined with decor. At the center of the space, resting on the finely crafted carpet was her glass computer desk. It wasn't as big and luxurious like what Sawecki had. But it was enough for her. She was content with having her own space for a change.

She nodded. "Yeah. Check the cabinet in the bathroom."

"Please tell me that I won't find _that_ same outfit in there." Bianka complained, pointing to her clothes with disgust.

She looked down herself. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, a matching black long sleeve and black pumps— her work clothes. "Why? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Nobody died, Laura. Why are you always dress like somebody died?"

She laughed. "Go, get cleaned up. I also have some make-up there." She got up and fetch her phone again. "I'll call Olga, see if she wants to come too."

"Yeah, but you know what she's gonna say. You know how she is with Italy."

She stopped, her fingers hovering on the button.

She could still remember it as if it was yesterday. What's supposed to be a relaxing summer vacation became one of the most unforgettable moments of her life.

Some five years ago, Olga's cousin, Remri, invited them for the summer. Laura fell in love with the place. Everything about Sicily was a dream come true. From the landscapes, the culture, the ancient architecture, the people, the food. Everything was going well. Olga even met and hooked up with an Italian guy from Cefalú whom they met in one of the clubs.

One summer day, they drove down to Cefalú to see where the guy lived. They stopped by the marketplace because two of their colleagues wanted to check it out. Bianka and her boyfriend at the time went to find a restaurant while Olga and Italian guy stayed in the car. She didn't wanna be around with all the moaning and frolicking so she left them.

She was dawdling around, fascinated by the souvenir shops when Bianka called her. She told her to meet them at this Mediterranean restaurant they found. They're seated in the balcony overlooking the market and the sea when she heard it.

At first, she thought they were fireworks. She was about to joke that Italians have a weird sense of timing.

_Who would light fireworks in the middle of the day?_

But at the corner of her eye, she saw two bodies fall down. Then everybody was running in different directions, screaming, panicking.

One of the men in black grabbed the other fallen, an older gentleman and disappeared to the stairs.

It didn't take a moment for her instincts to kick in. She rushed to the body nearest her. A younger man— she could tell that he was Italian from his deep-set eyes, his stubble and bone structure.

He had a bullet lodged in his torso, right where his large intestine was. His body was going into a septic shock. And the guards around her were more concerned about who fired at them rather than the man lying on the balcony.

She remembered his brown eyes— so dark they looked almost black. She couldn't forget, how, even at the brink of death, they still look fearless, calm… _exquisite_. His eyes, his willingness to live motivated her to keep him awake, _alive_. They were the only thing that kept her from running away with the other terrified guests.

Olga and Italian guy were victims of the stampede that occurred in the marketplace. Olga had been traumatized and swore she would never go back to Italy. They left as soon as they released Olga from the hospital hours later.

After that summer, she had never had a stronger MO to become a doctor.

But alas, life hit her like a bitch.

Sometimes she still wonders about the man and his chocolate eyes.

_Did he live?_

She hoped he did.

The creak of the door opening interrupted her reverie.

"Explain to me," Bianka announced, "Why do you insist on wearing black when you've got _this_ in your closet?"

She turned around and sashayed towards her, fresh faced- far from the wreck she was earlier. Bianka was wearing her white off-shoulder peplum dress. It was the one dress Martin bought for compensation when he forgot to pick her up.

"Bright colors are not really my thing… If you want it, you can have it."

"No! After you've forced me to take that trip." Bianka whined as she checked herself in the mirror. "Stop being so nice for a change, Laura."

"Correction. I'm only kind to you. And Olga… sometimes… when she's not cranky."

"Did you call her yet?"

"No."

_I got distracted._

"What do you think she'll say?" She bit her nails. Olga could be pretty scary sometimes. "What if I told her there's gonna be free booze?"

"Ha!" Bianka scoffed, running her hand down her dress. "Even that won't make her come."

"But it's my birthday!" She pouted. "I want my best girls with me."

Bianka flopped down the couch where she was at. "For you my friend, I'll convince her."

"Thank you." She pursed her lips.

Bianka smiled and gave her a peck.

"Now, get out of here. I got some work to do."

Bianka got up from the couch and turned to the door, her ratty sweats in her hands. "I don't deserve you, Laura."

"Don't go sappy on me now. Get out." She grinned at Bianka blew her a kiss and left.

She went back to her desk and proceeded to finish her paper. When she was all done, she printed two copies of each and practiced her spiel.

With still thirty minutes to spare, she typed Sicily on the web and searched for activities she and Bianka could do. She cancelled the romantic getaways and listed hers and Bianka's name in the Spa and the city tour. She was humming along the keys of Yiruma, astonished by the lack of guilt for Martin.

_That must be a good thing._

Still have time to kill, she found herself googling "Cefalú Shootout 2015" again. But the results remain the same. As it had been for the past few years. The news only focused on the stampede that injured a hundred others. It mentioned nothing about the gunfire that happened in the restaurant. The Google pages ran out and still, nothing.

_How weird._

_How could they not report something that big? It_ _probably_ _started the stampede in the first place._

There was a soft knock on the door again.

"Miss Biel?" Came a high, honeyed voice. She recognized the short, pixie-haired woman, her elfish face peering behind the door.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Marek is ready for you now." Marek's assistant informed.

_Showtime._

"I'll be there in two."

She fetched her items and glanced at the mirror to check her hair and attire. "I don't dress for a funeral." She convinced herself, flattening the nonexistent crease on her skirt.

She made her way to the 32nd floor, her chin held high. She tried to keep the butterflies floating around her stomach.

_This is it, Laura._

She held a conscious hand to her heart before knocking on the door. "Sir?"

_Don't faint. Don't faint. Don't faint. No matter what he says, no matter what happens, don't faint._

"Come in." Said the deep voice from behind the room.

"Good afternoon Sir." She smiled, her brightest smile while clutching the folder behind her back. "You wanted to see me?"

"Ah yes, Miss Biel." The man stood up and extended his hand.

She grasped it.

His office was 10x bigger than hers. But you could expect that from the top senior position in the company. He has its own adjacent meeting room, a large lounge area, a comfortable bathroom and a 360 degree view of the city.

"Sit down, sit down." He pointed to the sturdy chairs in front of his table.

"Thank you."

"What do we have here?" He asked, eyeing the folder on her lap.

"Ah, these are the annual sales report for the past year. Thought you might want to see that." She slid him the file.

"Thank you. But I don't need to review this to see that the hotel is thriving, Miss Biel." He supplied and leaned back on his high chair. "All thanks to you. You're the best in this job."

"It's only because I have the best team, Mr. Marek."

"Hayden, please. Don't make me feel older than I am."

She tried ignoring the lewd glint in his eyes.

"Hayden."

"How many years have you been working for The Regent, Laura?"

"Four and a half years this coming August."

"And you started as a server, right?"

"Yes, si- uh, Hayden."

"Then you became our receptionist."

She smiled and nodded.

"I like your story, Laura. It tells me that hard work can get you anywhere… Is it true that you were a med student? Before you came here?"

"Yes. I, uh, I was on my Clerkship. But I had to quit."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that." _The prick didn't look sorry though._ "If given the chance, do you still wanna go back? To studying medicine, I mean?"

She'd been thinking about it. But if she said yes to Marek, she might not get that promotion. "I still think about it to past the time but I fell in love with hotels. I can still help and serve people here, without the gory details."

Marek laughed. "Of course, of course."

He stood from his chair, and patted the file to his lips. "As you now know, we're in need of a general manager by the end of the week…" He half sat on the table, his beady eyes on her. "And I know for a fact, you're perfect for the job."

_YES. YES. YES!_

She tried to control her voice. "I will do my best, Sir."

"Hayden."

"Hayden." She repeated with a forced smile.

"Good, good."

_Okay, can she go now?_

Marek, once again, stood and circled her in a way that reminded her of a predator.

She heard the alarming ringtones going off in her head.

_Please don't do anything stupid. Please don't do anything stupid._

She willed her heart to slow down.

He stopped behind her and grasped her shoulders. She flinched, but remained seated. Even as he sniffed her hair.

She felt the bile rising from her throat.

"Yes, good, good. You will be good."

"Please, take your hands off me." She pleaded, keeping her voice firm and stable. Her hands, closed into tight fists on her lap, to keep it from shaking.

"You will do everything I say if you want still want that promotion."

His breath smelt like cigarettes.

She tried her best not to gag.

But then, he licked behind her ear and she cracked.

She stood up, his chin hitting her shoulder with a loud thwack!

Marek yelped in surprise and pain from biting his own tongue. "Mah tang!"

She turned on her heel and threw her quivering fist on his nose. It landed square on and Marek fell down on his ass.

Her fist was burning from the impact. Hot ball of tears wet her eyelids. Her entire body, being, shaking from the assault. "You can have your promotion, you fucking pervert."

"You bitch!" He cried, pinching his bleeding nose.

"Don't ever touch me again." She hissed and with great effort, she ran out. She ignored the sly looks from the people she passed by and went straight to her office.

Sophia caught up to her. "Miss Biel? Miss Biel? Are you alright?"

_She's here already?_

She wiped the tear running down her cheek. "You found everything okay at my apartment?"

"Yes... Um." Sophia pushed her round glasses on the bridge of her nose. "Your luggage is in the lobby. Shall I send them up?"

She shook her head. "No. But can you book me my usual room downstairs? I'll stay here for the night."

"Of course." Her assistant gave her a wry smile.

"Dziękuję Ci, Sophie."

* * *

The sound of the rotors touching down roused him from his dreamless sleep.

He sat up from the nook and took his seat. The stewardess proceeded to arrange the pillows and blanket he slept on. Mario has already been awake on the opposite gangway. The old man nudged a snoozing Domenico beside him who jumped out of his chair. His hand, going to his holster.

_Glad to know, paranoia runs in the family._

Business in Rome has always been a pleasure. The one-hour flight was almost worth it. But right now, he's looking forward to the day off. After the drama with Anna, he wanted to be alone. He craved it, like a kid with a candy. He felt like he deserves a moment of solitude. Away from the drugs, the prostitution rings, the guns, the people, and Mario. Especially Mario.

_May be I'll take out the Titan this afternoon._

Of all the things he owned, his yacht has to be his favorite. It was his cheapest yet most treasured escape. Only a few selected people have the prerogative to join him there. He's determined to keep it that way. Mario hated it. Then again, the old man have always hated and avoided everything with the word "Fun" on it.

The pressurized cabin door opened. Mario rose from his seat first before a yawning Domenico followed him out the aircraft. He stretched his legs before he, too, was up on his feet.

"Hope you had a wonderful flight, Signore." Flirted the stewardess before flashing him a toothy grin. She was too pretty and looked too rangy for a stewardess. Domenico must have picked her out the litter himself.

He ignored her and stepped out the threshold. The sun was blooming on the horizon, warming the sky in an orange bluish blanket. He inhaled the fresh and sweet Sicilian breeze, relishing it.

_Home again._

He closed his jacket and donned his aviators. The sun may be pretty today, but that doesn't mean he stopped hating it.

"Massimo," Mario started as soon as he entered the car. "Montisanno wanted to meet with you regarding the new armory shipments."

"It's already here?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes. It arrived only an hour ago. They want to know if you wanna take a look."

 _Fuck. So much for the day off_.

He gave him curt nod. "We'll go straight there." He ordered the driver who pulled up at the arrival area where a sea of people are waiting in queue for their taxi.

"Why are we going this way?" He asked, irritated.

The driver looked nervous and stammered a reply. Domenico stepped in for him. He shifted from the front passenger seat to explain. "They closed the private road for some maintenance."

"Out of all the days, they chose today." He grumbled.

"Infatti, no?" His brother muttered back, chomping down his gum.

"Where's your toothpick?" He joked, his voice flat.

He knew that Domenico was trying (and failing) to quit smoking. His "alternatives", including toothpicks and gum, were only making it worse for him.

He told him that if he wanted to smoke, then he should. They're all gonna die anyway, some way. And with their lifestyle, it's a guarantee.

Domenico turned to him again, his eyebrows wiggling. He bragged, "The stewardess has it."

His lips quirked into a smirk.

The driver slowed as a couple wheeled their push carts over the trolley lanes. A traffic marshall recognized their car and immediately stopped the other vehicles. The man was pointing for the other cars to move aside and make way. The man was wearing a very distracting tattered, neon vest. It was hurting his eyes.

He stared forward, making a mental note to mention this detail to the governor, when a reflection caught his attention.

Everything moved, as if in slow motion.

But, not slow enough.

A black haired woman was arranging her hair in a messy bun. All the while, she was staring at his window. Her eyes, a rare turqouise and ever so penetrating.

He felt his pathetic excuse for a heart, stopped.

The hair on his arms prickled.

He bolted from his seat and removed his sunglasses.

He spun on his torso, as they passed by her, unwilling to take his eyes off her, in case he was dreaming.

He couldn't speak.

He couldn't think.

"Che cos'è, Massimo?" Mario demanded, alert. "What is it?"

The woman was still staring at the car, as if she could see him through the back tint. Another woman approached her, smiling and pointed to the cab driving to them. The raven-haired woman broke eye contact and smiled at her friend. They loaded their luggages when their cab stopped in front of them.

"Stop the car." His voice between a rasp and a whisper.

"What?"

"I SAID STOP THE CAR!" He bellowed, his voice shaking the interior of the SUV.

The tires screeched to a halt at the side of the road. The impact forced Domenico and Mario forward in their seats.

He threw the car door and sprung from his seat. He ran towards the trunk and watched as she entered the cab. Her smile, not leaving her face.

He heard Mario and Domenico got out the car.

"What happened?" His brother questioned, his head swirling back and forth to his face and the taxi zone.

"It's her."

"What?!" Domenico walked to him, his eyes not leaving him.

While his, were not leaving her ride.

"Where?! Are you sure?"

His entire body was shaking.

He was sure.

This time, he was fucking sure.

The taxi was still stuck in the traffic behind them. He couldn't take his eyes off it. The windows weren't tinted. She was in the back passenger seat, he saw her removing her cardigan. She was laughing at her friend.

It's her.

It's her!

"Domenico, tell the second car to pick you up here."

"Massimo, be rational. We have-" Mario began.

"I don't care! I'm not letting her out of my sight." He was pulsing.

"Who?!" The old man looked mad.

He couldn't waste time.

The traffic was starting to move.

"Get out the car." With hasty footsteps, he walked backwards to the SUV. "Get out, I'm driving!"

The driver stepped down and away from the car.

"Look, let's be calm down for a minute here." Domenico amended and pulled his phone. "I'll ask Alek and the other guys to follow. I'm calling them right now."

No.

_It has to be him._

He memorized how the cab looked like. A white Ford Galaxy. The company's name branded on the passengers' and rear doors.

"Massimo?"

She's here.

She wasn't a dream.

After all these years.

Five fucking years.

_She's real._

"Massimo!" Domenico called again. "Did you get a look at the plates?"

"BB 03813. The Airport Taxi company." he responded in a minute.

Domenico repeated it to the phone. "Okay, okay. Good." He hung up and informed him. "It's one of Stefan's."

Cars zoomed past them. Nobody dared to horn; Everybody seemed to recognize the seal on the side doors.

"Good. Tell the second car to pick you up."

"But-" Mario interrupted again.

"Get out of my way or I'll run you over." He snarled, stepping on the driver's stool. His eyes anywhere but the nasty, senile man.

"You're gonna leave us here in the gutter?" Mario complained.

For a minute, he let his eyes wander to his brother. "Domenico…"

His brother nodded at him in understanding. "Alek has your back. The second car is on its way here. I'll make up for your absence."

"Fanculo!" Mario threw his hands up in exasperation.

He was never more thankful for Domenico than that moment.

The taxi took the east 92nd exit, he changed the gear to Drive.

He rolled the windows as Domenico hollered, "I'll patch the taxi's GPS on yours. Vai a prenderla, brother." _Go get her._

He smirked at Nico before flooring on the gas.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Laura curious about Massimo too, that way they're both weird together. LOL. I would like to believe that Domenico and Massimo have a great relationship. ‘Cause I know Massimo won’t have someone he doesn’t trust to watch Laura. ALSO, I had different versions of the ending. At first I don’t want Massimo to come after her, but after five years of pinning? It wouldn’t make sense to me if he ordered somebody to do it for him. 
> 
> Still interested? 😬 My original plan was three chapters, but if guys want maybe(?) I could do more and cover the entire movie.


	3. Flowers and Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I wasn’t expecting that. You guys, holy crap. Thank you for reading! I’m overwhelmed. THANK YOU.
> 
> I just have to point this out, if you liked the movie, THAT IS FINE! If you like choking, spanking, BDSM, role playing etc., IT IS TOTALLY FINE! We all have different preferences. We all have fantasies. And IT. IS. FINE!
> 
> The reason I’m writing this fic is because I think the characters have more to offer than their movie counterparts. I LOVE THE CHARACTERS, THE PINNING, THE SETTING OF THE MOVIE, THE SEX IN THE MOVIE, THE BAD GUY TURNED GENTLE LOVER TROPE, THE INDEPENDENT WOMAN, & Michele’s face, body, existence. I am not forcing this on anyone’s throats. I’m only providing (and trying to offer) an alternative explanation to make Lipinska’s version have more sense. This is just fanfic. Let people enjoy things. Haters and so called “feminists” need to stop shaming us for liking, watching, rewatching, writing, reading about it. And I’m pretty sure no one in this fandom liked to be kidnapped in real life. 
> 
> But yeah, all I’m saying is, don’t be ashamed of liking this movie. :) 
> 
> Ready? HERE WE GO.

* * *

# 

* * *

**CATANIA, Sicily, Italy**

If Olga hadn't made up an excuse not to go, she would've said something within the first ten minutes of the ride.

She would've done it herself, if it wasn't for Bianka.

_"We are two beautiful women, alone, and in a foreign country. We couldn't be bitches to cab drivers."_

Bianka, as always, was being paranoid. And as much as she hated it, she had a point.

But her heart rate was spiking up.

The sleepiness she was feeling earlier was gone, Worry had now replaced it.

Bianka doesn't like wearing seat belts. She said it wrinkles her outfits.

To her amazement and pure horror, she watched, as her friend put away her lipstick and buckled up at once.

She couldn't blame her.

She tightened her strap as well, as the daredevil of a driver drove through the highway.

Laura found herself clutching the handrail above her head as their cab swivelled to the left.

To the right.

Forward.

The driver stepped on the brakes. They jerked forwards, the seat belts restricting them to safety.

It has been going on since they entered the freeway.

The red-faced, bearded, gawky man pressed his horn and rolled down his window to curse at the car next to them. Who, in her opinion, was driving within the allowed limit. But their driver had the audacity to holler,

"Drive faster, _nonna!"_

She exchanged a "Are-you-fucking-kidding-me look" with Bianka. Her friend was trying to hide her chuckle between her manicured fingers.

For the past ten minutes, they had been too polite to ask him to to slow down. So, they kept it to themselves, to not say anything.

But she, at least, wanted to enjoy her birthday vacation with her limbs still attached to her body.

"Can I ask you to slow down a little bit?" she exasperated and glanced at Bianka who waved the Italian dictionary app on her phone at her.

"Uh… piano per favore." She enunciated again, reading the sentence off Bianka's phone.

The man kept his eyes on the road and blared his horn again as they overtake another car.

"This is... Speed limit, Miss." He reasoned, his voice, thick with an Italian accent. "This, how we do in Italia!"

Bianka was biting her lip, holding her laugh.

Until now, Laura didn't know what was so funny in their situation.

_Speed limit, my ass._ She gritted her teeth in frustration.

_They were running at 150!_

"Slow down, asshole." she said in Polish, flashing a sardonic smile to him through the rearview mirror.

"What is that, _donna_?"

Bianka laughed and she glared at her. She tilted her head, as if to say, _"Do something!"_

Bianka leaned forward between the front headrests, squeezing her arms in purpose. Perfect cleavage on display. "I'm sorry, sir, but I've got heart problems. I can't get too pumped up."

Though it was indirect, she hated that Bianka was insinuating the heart condition excuse... Again.

"—Can you slow down a little bit?" She pinched her fingers in the air, indicating how little.

She's got to hand it to her friend. Bianka knew how to seduce everyone's socks off. She rolled her eyes, half amused.

"Okay, okay! I will do what you ask, _donna_." the driver flirted.

Bianka smiled, leaning back to her seat. "Grazie, grazie."

It wasn't ten minutes later that the driver was at it again.

She was starting to get even more dizzy.

"We are not in a hurry, Sir. You can slow down." She tried to talk him round, keeping her voice light and anything but annoyed.

She held the back of her seat and shut her eyes as their cab slipped between two heavy container trucks.

Bianka wasn't smiling now either.

The driver let out a maniacal laugh, beeping his horn at the truck driver who already had his window down. The truck driver was saying something in Italian. She figured it wasn't a "good morning" kind of greeting after he raised his middle finger.

Their driver thought it was hilarious. "I'm a good driver, no? The best in Italia!"

_Okay. That's it._

Beside her, she could see Bianka shaking her head, mouthing, "No, Laura."

She removed her seatbelt and leaned forward again, ready to school him.

But the phone on the dashboard rang.

The man stopped his humming, put on his headphones and answered.

_Unbelievable!_

"Pronto."

She held on the headrest as she waited for his phone conversation to be over. The driver was still racing through the traffic like the madman he was.

But then he stiffened.

She couldn't hear the voice on the headphone but for some reason, the man slowed down to the right speed.

His voice, was now trembling and small.

A black sedan honked and drove in front of them and he didn't even try to drive past it.

She looked at Bianka who had her phone behind the driver's head. She was trying to catch what he was saying through the audio translation. Bianka showed her phone, the screen said,

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sir. Yes. Yes. I will not do it again._

She went back to her seat as the driver changed his directions and drove to the slow lane.

The man hung up his phone and looked skittish. She could see the sweat rolling down the side of his face.

"Would you… would you like some water, Miss?" The driver stammered, opening the glove compartment. "I have water here."

"Um. Yes. Sure. Si, si." A surprised and amused Bianka crowed, taking the two bottles from his hands. "Grazie."

Bianka handed her one and she downed it in seconds. Her heart and throat was thankful for the refreshment.

"Caramella? Candy? I have candy." the driver offered again, opening the center console.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change of the man's behavior.

"No, no, no. It's fine. Thank you." Bianka refused, repressing her chuckle. "You want one, Laura?"

"No, but thank you. Grazie." She gave the man a sincere smile this time.

"No... No problem." he babbled, glancing at her through the rear view mirror and at the cars behind them. He looked like he was having a nervous breakdown.

She turned around to see for herself and saw a yellow mini cooper behind them.

"Everything okay?" She asked the driver

The driver replied, his tone too high to be calm. "Yes. Si, si."

She watched the dashboard, saw the GPS screen and the red tiny dot of their location. The taxi company must have been tracking their illegal speed through it.

_Good._

She wished they had that kind of technology in Poland. If she accepted the promotion at the Regent, she'll equip their service cars with that kind of tracker. It's gonna be costly, yes, but nobody has ever done it before. She could imagine the rave reviews for the Regent.

She shook her head at the thought. She was not gonna think about her lost opportunity or that fucking pervert during this trip.

She capped the empty bottle and threw it in the small trash can in the car. "How long until we get to the hotel?"

"Uh, thirty minutes more, Signora."

She reclined the seat and rested her forehead on the window. The warm weather was exuding off the glass, calming her heart and migraine.

Bianka started a conversation about the shopping malls near their hotel. Her friend rested her chin on the driver's seat as she talked. The driver didn't sound as edgy and answered Bianka's questions with mild enthusiasm.

She tuned them out and closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle lull of the car cruising through the road.

The Xanax she took before their flight was still making her tired and groggy. She hated taking them. But she has to.

She's always been afraid of flying. She didn't know how it started. There was something about the sound of the engines before take off. The slight rumblings of the ventilation system. The unpredictable turbulence mid flight. The anxiety that she's trusting her life to a stranger. All these reasons were always making her wanna claw her eyes out. Although, planes were the safest way to travel, she avoided it— whenever she could. And if she couldn't, it was imperative that she has to take sedatives to calm her.

She almost forgot about it, if it wasn't for Sophia. Her former assistant was so kind to pick the prescription a few hours before Laura left the office. For good.

Laura quit.

She couldn't work with that greedy, horny pig.

She couldn't work with people who already presumed she only got the job because she's been sleeping with the boss.

After she calmed down, she went to Oskar's office and told him what happened. She had never seen Oskar act tough or mad. He has always been this sweet, father-like mentor to her during her employment at the Regent. But that afternoon, she and Sophia had to drag him back to his office to stop him from storming Marek's office.

Oskar agreed to her resignation, effective immediately. He also assured her that this won't affect her good name among other top hotels in Poland. She could still get a higher position, given her outstanding credentials. He was ready to call his connections when she declined his offer.

If she's gonna get hired, it'll be because of her, not for favors nor connections from anyone.

So now, she's on a vacation in one of the most luxurious places in the world.

Jobless.

Not to mention, fiancé-less.

Martin hasn't called nor texted her since yesterday.

Not that she was waiting for him to.

Nor was she planning to talk to him if he did.

_Not yet, anyway._

This weekend was all gonna be about her and Bianka.

She can only turn 29 once, after all.

And even though her birthday wasn't something she's always looking forward to, she could use the vacation. It's been a while since she had one without Martin.

She exhaled a long, deep, sweet breath.

May be she could sleep at the hotel for a few hours. Their spa treatment won't be until late in the afternoon and their dinner reservation was for 6 pm.

_Yeah, I could sleep._

She welcomed the peaceful respite of the soft Italian music coming from the radio. She felt her breathing evened out, her eyes were getting heavier. She drowned out the conversation as her mind began to replay every idea and event of her morning.

She woke up in her hotel room, alone and texted Bianka to meet her at the airport. In her ire from the lack of decency from Martin, she removed her engagement ring and put it in her wallet. She took her meds right before she got out the door.

In the lobby, her staff lined up in two rows and thanked her, hugged her as they said their goodbyes. She cried. She couldn't tell anyone else what happened. Bianka thought she still got the job. She didn't have the heart to tell her yet because it'll spoil everything. Oskar kissed both her cheeks. Conrad took her to the airport, another parting gift from Oskar.

Bianka was turning heads at the airport. Their flight's delayed. She fell asleep on the plane, the piano tunes of Chopin distracted her ears during taxi and take off. They arrived in Italy half past 10. The queue for the cab was long. Bianka used her charm against the helpless operator to give them the cheapest cab.

The cars, taxis thickened as other passengers began to crowd the waiting area. A neon-vested enforcer arrived with a stop sign. But instead of controlling the pedestrian traffic, he stopped the cars to make way for a black SUV. A black Range Rover. There was something odd and familiar about the lion's head ornament on the hood of the car.

It passed by her.

On its doors, she saw the side profile of a lion's head with thunder icons for its mane. The vinyl sticker was black matte and almost looked invincible at the dark doors.

She's hit by a sudden sense of de ja vu.

She's seen them before, she knew she had.

_But, where_?

A vague memory from not too long ago. The answer was on the tip of her tongue. She was wracking her brain as she watched the car drive away. Her attention, fixed on the windows, expecting all the answers were there. But she could only see her reflection.

The visions changed.

She's in the restaurant balcony in Cefalú. She was trying to pronounce the letters on the menu, her tongue was getting caught on the R's. There was a sharp blow of wind, a piercing scream and everybody was running. Bianka and the others sprinted towards the stairs. But her legs ran to the man lying, bleeding on the floor. At the back of her mind, she heard Olga's voice.

_"Your altruism and_ annoying sense _of moral fiber will get you killed one day, Laura. I'm fucking_ telling _you."_

_"I'm studying to be a doctor, Olga." she appealed, smirking at her friend. "It's my duty."_

The stranger's hands were warm and big against hers. She pressed it on his chest. She removed the soft wavy strands sticking to his forehead.

_"Please, wake up."_

And he did.

His dark chocolate eyes were unlike anything she has ever seen before. She felt something in her shift.

_"That's it. That's it! Can you hear me? I'm Laura. Laura Biel. What's your name? Do you know where you are?"_

He was staring at her as she assess his wound.

There was so much blood.

His entire body was shaking.

He was experiencing shock, among many others.

His face ashened by the second.

_"Stay with me, stay with me."_

He smiled at her, a pained smile. He whispered something in Italian. She wished she understood what he meant. He passed out, clutching her hand on his chest. His heart was slowing down.

_No, no, no._

She surveyed her surroundings. The men wearing black tuxes and dark shades had their guns up. They were shouting, their weapons pointed towards the buildings. She saw an overturned lounge chair. She shouted for the upcoming guard looking at her to bring it over. She grabbed the table cloth and tied it around the man's torso, preventing further bleeding.

It was a struggle to get him down the wide staircase, but they did. The restaurant was empty. She could still hear the screaming and thunderous footsteps of the crowd. The other guard was telling her to go away. She wanted to punch him. They were in the car and she's telling the driver to go faster. The injured man's head was on her lap.

She was holding his hand, the other, was pushing his hair out of his eyes. His face, covered with his own blood. She tore the clean hem of her romper, and wiped the dried blood on his face. He was so pale and unresponsive. She kept their hands on his chest, atop where his heart was. The feeble beat was scaring her.

_Please, live._

"Laura?"

She heard. Someone was shaking her.

"Laura? We're here."

She blinked her eyes open and saw a beaming Bianka.

"We're here." Her friend repeated and pointed to the bellboy careening from the lobby.

She straightened up, put on her cardigan and got out the car.

"Buon pomeriggio, Signoras. Welcome to the Grand Hotel Baia Verde." The handsome bellboy greeted with a pleasant smile she knew he'd practice over a thousand times. He was wearing a black fitted waist length jacket and a band collar. His hair, the color of dark auburn, was neat and trimmed.

"Buon pomeriggio! Grazie! Grazie!" Bianka extolled with her best Italian diction.

While she walked to the trunk to help the driver unload their luggage. Only for the driver to shoo her away.

"No, no, no. I got this Signora."

Another bellboy arrived with the bag cart and helped the driver with Bianka's fourth luggage.

She stepped back and took her wallet from her bag.

The driver saw this and raised his hands in protest. "No, no, no."

She handed him the bills. "Take it."

The man was adamant and was shaking his head. He stepped back. "Già pagato. Già pagato, Signora. Already paid."

Beside her, Bianka frowned, "By whom?"

The driver didn't answer and closed the trunk of his car. "Have a great stay, Signoras. And I'm sorry for driving fast."

The driver restarted his engine and drove away.

She faced Bianka again and grinned. "Okay, I've seen you do it a thousand times. But holy fuck!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You showed him your tits while I was asleep, didn't you?" She accused, remembering that one night in college when they had no money to pay the fare after a night partying.

"I did not!" Bianka defended in a tone that was hard to distinguish, whether true or not.

"Yeah, right." She teased, linking her arm with her while they followed the bellboy to the lobby. "If I'm ever rude to you again, I'm giving you the permission to slap me. As hard as you can."

She felt a pang of nostalgia for her old job as her eyes roamed the grand lobby.

Baia Verde was a ten-storey building sitting on a natural set of volcanic rocks. It was overlooking the Mediterranean bay, the view that has drawn her out here in the first place.

The hotel lobby felt light and airy. It had a neutral color scheme, from the paint job, the furniture and the decorations on the marbled tables. Every hue was between white and cream. Tall, verdant and floral foliage surrounded every crevice of the lobby, suggesting homeliness. The off white tiles shone beneath them, reflecting the opulent chandeliers above. The doors and windows were open, allowing the sweet and the salty Italian breeze to kiss them.

Positioned and facing the glass door entrance was a heavy and ornate granite desk. A blonde woman with a friendly and bright face stood behind it, ready to receive them.

They hadn't reached the desk yet, when a man dressed in a blue pinstriped suit stumbled out to greet them. He wiped a hand on the stiff strand of hair that fell in his eyes and smiled at them. A cautious, almost apprehensive wide smile that reminded her of a Cheshire cat.

He was short for an Italian man, had gray hair, a clean shaven face and a pleasant, aristocratic demeanor. She wondered if she had the same appeal and aura when she was still at the Regent.

"Good afternoon Signoras." He greeted, his face, flushed. He was holding his phone, the screen, still lit. "Welcome to Baia Verde… I'm Leo Brusitz, manager of the hotel."

"Good afternoon." Bianka grinned.

The manager gave a slight nod to Bianka before turning to her, "I trust you have a wonderful flight, Miss Biel?"

She faltered, confused why would Brusitz know her name.

_Ah. Yes, the reservation._

"She doesn't like flying." Bianka answered for her.

_Geez, a little louder Bianka._

A concerned expression corroded the man's face. Proving yet again, why she doesn't like sharing her indisposition to strangers, to anyone.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Miss Biel."

"It was all good." She lied, narrowing her eyes at Bianka.

"I sure hope you will find our accommodations much more pleasant."

They approached the reception desk and the woman moved out of the way as Brusitz manned the monitor.

"I made a reservation a week ago." She was taking out her identification and credit card when Brusitz interrupted.

"Ah yes, Miss Biel." the manager twittered. "The Empress suite will be ready for you in ten minutes."

He said something Italian to the receptionist who nodded and rounded the desk.

"Tina will give you refreshments as you wait. "

She frowned, alarmed. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"I'm sorry. Would you prefer cocktails?" He lifted a finger at Tina, who stopped in her tracks, waiting for instructions. "I could—"

"No, no." she shook her head. "What empress suite?"

The Italian manager met her eyes. There was a nervous glint in them, as if he's afraid he'd offended her.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Biel. I'm afraid it was only vacated a few minutes after your arrival."

"There's been some kind of mistake." She corrected. "I only booked the deluxe room with two double beds."

She booked the rooms herself for her and Martin a few weeks ago. She couldn't have made a mistake. "Has there been a mix up because of my call yesterday?"

Laura wasn't new to errors. She has been summoned to the reception desk quite a couple of times to clear out booking issues. The receptionist was back and offered her and Bianka two tall glasses of lemonade. She declined.

Brusitz was shaking his head, a strand falling out from its gel-clustered hair.

"No, no, no Miss. We did receive your request to cancel the queen bed. But, you reservation's been upgraded—"

_Upgraded?_

_Holy shit. What did Bianka do now?_

"—To our most prized suite."

She raised her eyebrows at Bianka who choked on the lemonade the receptionist gave her.

"Mr. Brusitz, I booked the room myself. I already paid the initial fee for the deluxe room. Here, take a look." She showed her phone to Brusitz who didn't even bother to look at the information.

She won't be paying a thousand euros for a room they'll only use to sleep in. She intentionally overbooked their itinerary cause she knew it was their least loveliest and cheapest room.

Plus, her new economic status won't allow her to indulge. She only got out of the debt from her student loans and her grandmother's medications before. She can't afford to get broke now.

"I assure you, Miss Biel, I'm not mistaken. And yes, we've already contacted your bank, we will give you the full refund. It's on the house. Anything for our most valued guests."

Her eyebrows were knotting together. "Wait, what? Why would—?"

Beside her, Bianka pinched her arm, her long nails spearing flesh.

"Auć!" She spun around, cursing." What was that for?"

Through clenched teeth and a fake smile, Bianka spoke in Polish, "Go with it Laura. Let the man do his job."

She turned to Brusitz again and half nodded. "Alright. Thank you, Sir."

"You're most welcome. Now, Mariano already went up with your luggage." Brusitz slid their card holders.

It was a gold plated key card with Art Deco borders and patterns on it. Her initials, _L. Biel_ , engraved on its shiny body.

"These cards will give you an all-VIP access and discount purchases. You can use it here at the hotel and to our sister companies as well. Restaurants, casinos, cinemas, resorts and shopping malls. There's a complete list of it in your room."

Bianka looked like she was about to pass out.

"This way, Signoras?" The manager gave them another professional smile and gestured to the elevators.

Bianka grabbed another lemonade from the tray before they followed the manager. Brusitz pressed the "P" button, swiped his access card and up they went.

Laura checked the reservation on her phone again. She was very thorough, especially on things like these. She could not have… _could she_?

Bianka was asking Brusitz about the pool amenities when the lift finally stopped.

The elevator opened up to a much more grandiose space than the lobby. High up on the lofty ceiling were hundreds of orb drop lights dangling. Her shoes sunk on the dark brown carpet under their feet. The walls were white with a 1920's panel board, sleek, classic and sophisticated.

Nailed on the wall opposite the elevator was a large realistic painting of a mountain. The painting was bleak, but still very impressive. The sun was absent on the canvas, adding a more sinister ambience to the landscape. White clouds billowed around the gray mountain which was covered with a white coat. The city of Catania below it.

"Etna." She whispered before she could stop herself.

"Yes, Miss. The most active volcano on Earth." Brusitz supplied from behind her. "Beautiful, beautiful mountain! Such beauty."

"Such beauty." She mumbled back in agreement, her eyes perusing the colors in the painting. "Yet deadly."

At the center of the foyer was a round wooden table. A lush blue arrangement of peonies, carnations and hydrangeas in a ceramic vase rested on it. She could help but admire it first as Brusitz approached the dark wooden door at the end of the hallway. An eager Bianka on his tail.

The flowers smelt fresh, water dew eased down the stems and each petal. It was the largest floral arrangement she'd ever seen in her life. Somehow, she got the impression that they arranged it for their arrival.

She smirked. She had completely underestimated the power of Bianka's beauty and appeal. She couldn't wait to tell Olga.

Her view was getting obstructed by the bouquet, but she heard Brusitz boasted. "This is our finest suite, Miss." and Bianka's audible gasp.

Laura peered and saw Brusitz holding the gild doorknob open. He was smiling, a confident smile he didn't have when she first met him.

_Fuck me._

She ambled into the room, her mouth parted in awe. Brusitz had every damn right to brag.

The space made the penthouse suite at the Regent looked like an abandoned basement.

Sunlight was bursting from inside the suite, it was almost blinding. The curtains, drawn open, allowed the sun bathe the room in mellow yellows and bright golds. The entire bay was in full view through the floor to ceiling windows surrounding the room. The Mediterranean bay was a turquoise fabric, its waves lashing the pointy rocks.

The flooring was a combination of dark wood and cream carpet furnishings. Upon entry, the elevated kitchen was on her right. It has an oven, a dishwasher, electric cook top and an island bar. Next to it was a dining set that could sit ten people.

Down a few stair steps, overlooking the view, was a 10-seater white sectional sofa. Two Eames chair faced the television suspended on the ceiling and the hearth. A chunk of white marble coffee table completed the living room set up. Dark doors complimented the stark walls. The place was neat and posh. Laura shuddered, thinking how much it'll cost a night.

"Mr. Brusitz, this is... I am... Are you sure?" she asked, unwilling to put her bag down in case he was messing with them.

"We sure hope you will enjoy your stay, Miss Biel. "

The luggage carts were already at the corner near the mini bar. Bianka squealed before she dragged her luggage to the door on her right.

Laura stood at the center of the room, still in awe. The manager was checking the temperature in the room.

"Is the temperature alright?"

She felt uncomfortable. Not a few days ago, she was in Brusitz' position. "Uh, yes. Thank you."

"If you want room service, please press the P button on the handset. Mariano would be happy to serve you."

"Thank you. But—"

"Also," The manager cut in again, "Your presence is requested by our patron."

Her forehead creased into a puzzled expression. "Your… patron?"

"Yes, Miss. He owns a part of this hotel, apart from many others in the island."

"Why am I meeting him?" She didn't realize she'd asked it aloud, until Brusitz answered her.

"He's been…" The manager wavered, as though he's searching for the right words. "... Informed of your credentials and reputation in the hospitality business. He wants to get your opinion on this new venture he's gonna try in Warsaw."

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She didn't know she even had a reputation, let alone, a reputation outside Warsaw.

She nodded, flattered. "Okay."

"He told me that he'll be at the Venetia restaurant tomorrow. It's not far from here. He's sending over someone to get you. Can I confirm? Would that be alright?"

"Yes, it's fine. Bianka and I will be ready at 6."

"Um." Brusitz stuttered, regretful. "My apologies, Miss. But the invitation only extends to you."

_Oh._

"I'm sorry, Miss. But we can indulge Miss Atnos with some entertainment. There's a wine tasting event tomorrow evening. She'll be taken care of."

_That's a relief._

Wine and Bianka always get along together. "Alright."

They heard another ear-splitting screech from one of the rooms. Bianka strutted out the door in her new outfit; a tight maxi dress, sunglasses, a straw hat and sandals.

"I'll leave you to it, Miss Biel, Miss Atnos." The man bowed at them, and extended his hand to her. "If there's anything you need, Miss Biel, feel free to call me. Anytime."

"I will. Thank you so much." She threw him another grateful smile. "Grazie."

"Have a great time, Signoras."

When the door closed, Bianka grasped her arms. Her eyes twinkling with excitement, it was almost illegal. "Have you seen your room yet?"

"No, I haven't."

She squealed again. "Holy fuck, Laura. This is unbelievable!"

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at her friend. "What the hell did you do, Bianka? Not ten minutes here and you're already seducing men behind my back?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You talked with Brusitz and changed our reservation, didn't you?"

"What?! No!" She scoffed. "And If I did, which I _didn't_ —" Bianka emphasized, an accusatory finger waving in the air. "—Would you stop complaining? You deserve…" she opened her palms in a worshipful manner, "This. All, this."

"I don't know. I... Feel a little off." She shrugged, looking around as well. "But yeah, this is pretty cool. Thank you for being here with me."

"Of course." Bianka removed her glasses and tucked them on her head. "Now, can we check the pool?"

"You know what? Go on without me. I'm gonna take a nap first."

Bianka tilted her head. "Aw honey. You feel okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I had to finish some things at the office. Late night." She grumbled, and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Go ahead. I'll meet you there."

"Are you sure? I can stay here with you."

"And ruin that outfit? I don't think so. " She persuaded, nudging her with an elbow. "Go, I'll be fine. "

"Well, if you insist." Bianka put on her straw hat and glasses back.

She chuckled. "Go!"

Bianka jumped and clapped her hands together, reminding her of a little kid at the playground. "Call me if you need anything!" She called from the door, closing it behind her.

Laura laughed, before her eyes roved around the vast space.

She could fit four Regent penthouse suites in here. She chuckled, a bittersweet chuckle, thinking about the job she's still supposed to have after this vacation.

_Snap out of it, Laura._

She stretched her arms over her head. She grabbed her suitcases and wheeled them into the vacant room. The opposite hallway across Bianka's.

They left the curtains drawn open in her bedroom as well. She could still see the bay view through the same wide windows identical to the living area. Laura held the remote from her side table and pressed the curtain button. The whirring sounds of the closing curtains echoed, dimming the brightness.

A mid-century king-size bed occupied most of the room. An abstract drawing of a naked woman was hanging above the tufted headboard. The sheets and duvét were violet and gray, fluffy pillows littered the top part of the bed.

There were another vase of blue flowers on the nightstand. She wondered if Bianka has her own too. Without thinking, she grabbed a stem of peony and took a long sniff.

Laura looked about her in disbelief and amazement. She had her own desk, a television, a love seat and a recliner. This was nothing like any rooms in the Regent. On the wall behind the bed was an all-white bathroom complete with a rain shower, a Jacuzzi and a walk in closet. She placed her luggages there before flopping on the bed, arms and legs spread out.

_I'll unpack later._

The room was now dark, thus more comforting. The air carried a scent of lavender and sandalwood, soothing her headache.

She kicked off her shoes and removed her scrunchy, allowing her black hair to spill around her. She pressed the peony to her lips, the sweet floral scent was most welcomed.

_You're gonna enjoy yourself._

_You won't think of Marek._

_Or Martin._

_Or being jobless for this trip._

* * *

His work, his family, his father's legacy always comes first.

Massimo had always prided himself with the ability to stay focused on the tasks at hand. He couldn't afford the time to get distracted. Not when the future of the whole Italian underground operations resides in his hands.

No matter how distracting and troubling the people around him were. Massimo always makes sure that he was always involved with the trade. He was a hands-on boss, like he promised his father he would be.

People were easier to manipulate, domineer when he's in the room with them.

But, this time, it was different.

And he hated himself for it.

Never, for the life of him had he ever been so withdrawn, aimless, _more_ restless.

He couldn't concentrate. His mind was far away. He was fidgety, as an unfamiliar nervous excitement continued to crowd him.

He felt like a kid again, waiting for the school to end.

Although Domenico did a good job in filling in for his absence, Massimo asked them to meet him at the Racine, a private bar in Catania. It was at the heart of the city, and only a few miles away from her.

Gio Montisanno was a robust, black-bearded man. A good ten years younger than Mario, he assumed. He had a red face and his neck was undetectable underneath his suit.

For the past hour, he was rambling about the firearms he acquired from the Russians. He was so proud of himself that he had been taking his goddamn time to elaborate each handle and cartridge to him.

But all he needed to know, Domenico had already told him. At the car. En-route. In less than ten minutes.

Montisanno was offering a 12 percent interest rate for the entire munition. The greedy man was trying to persuade them to accept his new offer.

He was in such a good mood today that he didn't even bother to intimidate him. Though, he knew he wouldn't pay above the rate they discussed, he humored the old man and listened to his spiel. Much to the surprise of everyone else, especially Mario who pat him on the back. "Finally."

But Montisanno was talking like a priest preaching homily. Beside him was Domenico, who was not making any effort to even pretend that he was listening. He was fidgeting with his lighter, his heel resting on his knee. His brother had already gone through with this earlier today. But like always, Nico supported him. He had to admit though that he was getting bored himself.

He looked over his left and saw Mario nodding, looking like he was having the best time of his life.

_At least, someone is._

There were only six people in the balcony with him. Alek and Theo— his guards— Domenico, Mario, Montisanno himself and his flunky. They were in a private room, hidden from plain sight from the club below.

He hung his head and took a peek at his phone.

It's been thirty minutes since Brusitz last text.

Massimo ordered a few of his men and Brusitz to keep an eye on her. He was aware that it was downright creepy of him to do. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was dreaming. He was, in some way, still validating her existence through the people around them.

Because, he still couldn't fucking believe it himself.

It's her.

She's here.

He found her.

After all these years.

He felt like shouting it over a cliff.

Nobody believed that he would find her, much less, believed that she was even real.

But here she was.

After leaving Domenico and Mario, he revved up the gas and caught up to their taxi. He pulled up behind them, maintaining a safe distance.

As promised, Domenico linked the cab's GPS to the car. He was able to see where they were going. Some cars around him must have sensed his urgency because they parted to give way. Beni, his computer tech, had been talking to him during the ride. He had summarized everything he got from the last couple of minutes.

Her name is Laura.

Laura Biel.

She's Polish.

Born May 31.

_Her birthday's tomorrow._

She was born in Lublin and had lived in Warsaw, Poland for the last 29 years.

_Two years younger than me._ He thought with a stupid grin.

She was intelligent. She had good grades all the way from high school to college.

She majored in Physical Therapy before she entered med school. She was already an intern and two years away from graduation that summer of 2015. But she had to quit to help with her grandmother's hospital bills who also died that year.

Afterwards, she has worked at the Regent, a four-star hotel in Warsaw. She's a Sales Director.

Her parents are still together and are living in Lublin. She has a 17-year old brother working at a retail store to help pay for college. They're a close, tight knit, polish family. The lowest in the middle class.

> _"She has a consistent monthly purchase for a pharmacy in Poland." Beni informed him._
> 
> _"What for? Is she sick?"_
> 
> Beni _was quiet for a few seconds. He could hear him mumbling as he read her file._
> 
> _The suspense was killing him, he felt his stomach churning._
> 
> _Don't let her be sick._
> 
> _"She has heart palpitations, Don Massimo. Nothing serious."_
> 
> _"Ok. Good." He exhaled, watching their cab speed through the highway._

The next information, wasn't.

> _"She has a fiancé, Sir. Martin Zalewski. They've been dating for close to five years. He's now a sales rep for an insurance firm."_
> 
> _A loser._
> 
> _An unfamiliar bitter, possessive feeling surged through him._
> 
> _He choked the steering wheel when Beni told him that Zalewski cheated. The scumbag cheated during the second year of their relationship with a co-worker. Laura was unaware of it. Up until now._
> 
> _"Where is he?!" He barked, getting more furious by the second._
> 
> _I'm gonna fucking kill him._
> 
> _"Our sources in Warsaw told us that he was last seen driving around the city a few hours ago. He's supposed to go with Miss Biel today. But she went with her friend, Bianka Atnos instead. We don't know why."_
> 
> _"Find the fucker." He hissed before hanging up._

He thought that with her being engaged to someone else, nothing could infuriate him even more.

But he saw Laura's cab slipped between the narrow space of two container trucks. _Like some fucking action movie scen_ e. He thought he's gonna have a coronary. If she wasn't in there, he would've shot the driver with the gun he knew was under the chair.

He called Beni again,

> _"Dial me the number of the driver in her cab."_
> 
> _"_ Si _."_
> 
> _The salsa ringing tone echoed in his speakers. The idiot, Ernesto Fiso, answered on the third ring._
> 
> _"If you know what's good for you, you will slow down."_
> 
> _"Who is this?" The man asked in Italian._
> 
> _"Torricelli is all you need to know." He spat, irritated that he even had to say it._
> 
> _He heard the man choke, like he was about to cry. The idiot started apologizing._
> 
> _"Mi dispiace, Mi dispiace, Signore…"_
> 
> _"If you so much as passed 60, you're gonna find your slut in the gutter. Are we clear?" He threatened, observing as the cab decelerated._
> 
> _"_ Si _…_ Si _… Non lo farò più."_
> 
> _"Don't let her pay the fare. My assistant will transfer the money."_

Afterwards, he called the hotel and told Brusitz to give her and her friend their most expensive room.

> _"But the room's occupied by the mayor."_
> 
> _He clicked his tongue in impatience._
> 
> _Romano. The prick. No doubt, he's there with his orgy._
> 
> _"Do I need to repeat myself?"_
> 
> _"No, Don Torricelli. Of course not. I will arrange it."_
> 
> _"Sanitize the whole place. I don't want them catching any diseases. And get Laura Biel a vase of flowers. Your biggest bouquet."_
> 
> _He stopped when he_ realised _what he said. Flowers?_
> 
> _Fuck._
> 
> _The romantic shit was about to start._
> 
> _"Of course, Sir. Do you have a color in mind?" Brusitz asked._
> 
> _He recalled the light blue article she was wearing five years ago, this same exact week. How it flew with the wind, how it made her glow._
> 
> _"Blue."_

He only got out the car as soon as his men saw the women enter the elevator.

He stayed in Brusitz' office for almost two hours, playing, replaying the CCTV cameras.

_Yeah, total creep, right there. Great job, Massimo!_

But he couldn't help it. It felt like his whole life has gained a new perspective and he was relishing every moment of it.

A new sense of happiness overflowed within him. And no, it wasn't like when he ended the tyranny of another mob family who were killing innocent children. Nor was it like earning a hundred thousand euros per month. Nor has it felt like being on the Titan on a warm, breezeless day.

This was a whole other level.

This, _she_ was something else entirely.

He saw her stop to appreciate the flowers. He curled his fingers around his lips, smothering his smirk.

Her face, was like as he remembered it. Angular, proud and looked so soft to touch. He felt his grin widen as she smiled to herself, her slender fingers grazing the blue petals.

He's overwhelmed by the things he wanted to do. Ideas racing through his head like a buzz of electricity.

She already agreed to meet him at Venetia tomorrow.

Can she recognize him?

He hoped she will.

He was already rehearsing the conversation in his head.

The tingling sensation erupting in his stomach.

_God, he felt like such a wuss._

He glanced at his clock and surprised to see that it was almost ten to seven.

Montisanno wasn't done and still talking.

_How was that even possible?_

_Okay. Enough_ clownery _._

He raised a finger and like an automatic switch, Montisanno stopped mid-sentence.

"I appreciate the effort, but we stick with what we agreed before the straw purchase. 4 percent is all I can give you. "

"Ma, Don Massimo…" his voice sounded like a door-to-door salesman. "These are high quality ammunition. You couldn't get these anywhere. Not even in America."

He was feeling generous today. "5 percent."

"10 percent, Don Massimo."

_Okay._

"6 percent. Take it or leave it." He asserted, keeping his eyes on him. He's wasted enough time for this. "I don't have all night, priest."

Domenico burst out laughing, getting his joke. Mario glared at him. His brother cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat, feigning seriousness. "I told you already, Gio. Take it. It's better than nothing."

The old man touched his fingers to his lips, mulling it over.

_Take it, you fool._

"Si, Don Massimo. Okay."

"Perfetto." He sneered. "I expect another delivery in two weeks."

"Si, si. Of course."

He turned to Mario. "Call everyone. We convene on Friday."

Mario nodded at him and obtained the bag under the table.

He knew his job was all done here so he stood up and exited the room.

Being the boss gave him dominance over all things. He liked exercising that control, especially in situations, women, and fellow mobsters. He hated surprises even as a kid. He liked keeping things, situations, people compartmentalized in tiny boxes. He liked keeping them controlled, shaped like what he wanted them to be. He preferred all things to be that way.

Yet, as unfortunate as it sounds, there were still things that were out of his jurisdiction. For instance, death and coincidence, with the latter one, being the worst of it all. Although, on rare occasions, coincidence proved to be a convenience, a solace.

Like this night, for example.

Massimo found himself reveling in its rare beauty. 

Because, at the corner of his eye, he saw a flurry of black dress. A fair, flawless skin and dark raven hair.

Though, if he was being honest with himself, he _felt_ it before his brain processed who it was. As weird and awful as it sounds.

The hair on his neck bristled.

He felt a rush of blood climbing up his neck.

He felt hot all of a sudden.

His lungs were running out of oxygen.

He stood there, at the foot of the spiral staircase, hidden in the shadows.

Frozen.

Like some _fucking_ antelope on the road.

Everything blurred.

Every sound, swaddled.

It astonished him, that even in a packed room, he could still see her.

Like she was some kind of magnet.

He wasn't even angry that his men weren't fulfilling their job he asked them to do. He didn't care that Brusitz failed to give him an update on where she might be.

She drank from her champagne glass. A man was sitting beside her, though he wasn't sure yet if she came with him.

She was talking. She looked upset. The man was listening to her.

_This couldn't be Zalewski, could he?_

She had her head in her hands, her hair was tumbling around her fingers. The man laid a hand on her shoulder and said something. She nodded at him, a small smile forming on her pink lips.

He felt a fuming hot ball of rage and jealousy burning his stomach. His hand involuntarily touched to the gun tucked behind his back.

He grabbed his phone to call Beni, but didn't have to.

One missed call.

_Fuck._

Beni answered on the second ring. "Boss?"

"Where's Zalewski?"

Beni didn't even take a breath to answer, "He took a flight and arrived in Catania this afternoon. Hired a cab and checked in Baia Verde."

_Fucking hell._

"Where is he now?"

He eyed the brown-haired man sitting beside her. Laura folded her elbows on the bar and rested her head between them.

_What's wrong with her?_

_She wasn't drunk, was she?_

"He's at Baia Verde, boss."

"What?!" he bellowed.

"He's at Baia Verde. Checked in this afternoon at 4pm."

_Then, who the fuck is this?_

"There's something else too." Beni continued.

"What else?" He quipped with gritted teeth, watching as the man ordered another glass for her.

"I'm sending the files to your phone."

Before he could glance down, however, a murderous anger threatened to set him off.

He went as far as pulling his gun as the man slid his fingers inside his jacket and produced a white sachet from his pocket. The man prowled around, wary of someone looking.

He was about to slip it to her drink. But stopped to check on the woman beside him.

Laura still had her head down. He was shaking her arms, trying to see if she'll wake.

Her head lolled to the side. Her eyes, closed.

Massimo felt his eyes widen, his hand balled into tight fists. His gun, by his side. 

The man stationed his hand under her nose, feeling her breath.

Laura was motionless.

The man hid the half empty sachet back in his jacket.

And Massimo knew.

He felt a new kind of rage shook his body. Like a lethal beast screaming for a release in the form of a familiar, gratifying violence.

_I'm gonna fucking kill you._

He took a step forward, out the shadows.

If he had his doubts before, he was fucking certain now.

Massimo Torricelli was, without question, going to hell for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was longer than I expected. 
> 
> My original plan was for them to meet so we’ll definitely have a chapter 4. After that, I'm not so sure. We'll see ;) 
> 
> Are you guys still in? I’m not sacrificing my sleep for nothing? LOL.
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> -J


	4. Music and Paintings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes are not deceiving you. I am back. I have no excuse. But I am deeply sorry for the long wait. 
> 
> For the sake of this story, let's all pretend that Monet's painting was large enough for a whole side of a wall. 
> 
> Thank you for the waiting and the love. Dig in, my lovelies.

The Green Wave, c.a. 1866-67, Claude Monet

* * *

**A few hours earlier.**

The soft Italian ballad echoing from the speakers stirred her slowly awake.

Laura stretched her muscles, keening at the wonderful feeling of the sheets on her skin. She turned her head to see the peony on her hand, a few petals withered on her palm and the pillow. She felt herself smile before laying the fragile stem on her nightstand.

Late afternoon rays sifted through the open curtains. She squinted, smudging her mascara over her eyes, Laura grimaced when she realized what she'd done.

She stretched her arms over her head, yawning and allowing the last ounces of sleep leave her. To her relief, her headache was gone. Satisfied, Laura glanced at the clock on the side table and sprang out of bed.

She mentally cursed herself and wondered why Bianka didn't wake her. She and Bianka has a spa reservation at 4 today. And even though she's well rested already, she didn't wanna waste the opportunity. She knew how hard it was to secure a schedule for places like this. She reached for her phone on the bedside table and checked her messages.

**_"I didn't wanna wake you, but I'm at the spa. They told me they could reschedule you. Talk about VIP, right? Sleep well, babe."_ **

Of course, Bianka can get her a new schedule. Mild crisis averted, Laura sighed in relief.

"Oh, what was it like to be beautiful and charming, Bianka?" She mused to herself, scoffing at her absent friend in fond exasperation.

Laura dialed her number but it went straight to voicemail. She sent her a text instead before hopping in the shower.

The shower tiles were cold against her feet, making her flinch and hiss in discomfort. But as soon as she turned the dial and the hot water sprayed on her skin, she moaned. Steam filled the room in minutes. Her mind lazily drifted to the events of today.

Their lunatic taxi driver and the free taxi fare. The expensive suite, and the mammoth-sized floral arrangement.

She felt herself reach a palm on the shower tiles, feeling its opulence in her prune-y fingers.

Laura had never been on the luxurious side of things, even with her favorable position in the business.

She was content standing on the sidelines. Growing up the way she did, Laura was okay living her life through others (not that she was aware of that).

So, excuse her for still having an odd feeling in her gut.

She always stuck her neck out for anything suspicious. Unlike her friend, she didn't mind asking the awkward questions. And the unexpected VIP treatment was, for the lack of a better word was... _Arbitrary_.

But before Laura could delve on it much further, a reprimanding voice reechoed in her head.

_You're staying here, in this huge room, for Bianka. You're giving your friend something to think about other than her douche of an ex-boyfriend._

The thought subdued her. Before the voice added, with gratifying affirmation.

_And you need time away from Martin, and your predator superior._

Pushing her suspicions aside, Laura has to admit that it felt sort of _nice_ not to be out of servitude for a change. It was welcoming, if not off-putting.

Perhaps, this was what she needed; a change of pace. Even if she wasn't looking forward to getting a year older, Laura felt the craving for a new outlook. Craving for a time to get away, forget who she was, forget all her troubles, and Poland if only for the time being.

She was gonna turn twenty-eight with a fresh mindset. She's gonna have a clean slate, a new beginning. She's gonna break up with Martin, move into a new apartment. Find a new job. And, maybe with the help of Oskar, file a sexual complaint to her old boss.

A fresh start, she owed that to herself.

Feeling enlivened with her new mission, she stepped out the shower. Laura upended her luggage and pulled the black number for tonight.

Before doing her makeup, she grabbed her phone to see if there any new messages from Bianka. To her surprise, her screen was empty. Which was strange, considering how Bianka was never without her phone.

But she remembered that spas don't usually allow phones in their heated and moist rooms. And Bianka was very attached to her phone, she'd never risk it. Laura she brushed away the unnecessary worry for her friend. Besides, their dinner reservation would be in fifteen minutes. She's not planning to miss that.

Laura texted Bianka and told her to meet her at their table before finishing up her makeup. She was fastening her heels on her ankle when she heard the front door open.

"B? How's the spa?" she called out.

Instead of a reply, the unmistakable sounds of trolley wheels bounced on wood. Someone spoke in Italian of what sounded like directions.

Laura frowned.

She stood up and went out to inspect. And as soon as she closed her door, ambrosial and aromatic scents filled her nostrils. Laura stepped into the main hall and had felt her frown deepened.

As if the bouquet at the foyer wasn't enough, four hotel employees scurried around. They were leaving various sizes of floral vases in every flat surface of the room.

The employees, two women and two men, halted in their tracks to acknowledge her.

"Good afternoon, Signora!" They all said in unison, their mien oozing with unmatched professionalism.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion." began the petite woman with Greek features. Her colleagues went back to work. "We're told that you and your friend have a spa appointment, so we figured the suite was empty."

"Um... Good afternoon." Laura stuttered, her eyes circling the room reeking with every flora imaginable. "Um? What is this?"

"We hope you like it." said the woman, who she thought was in charge. "If you could sign here, Signora? We'll be out of here." She thrust a clipboard in her direction.

Laura, still stunned, distractedly signed her name. The floral staff was almost finished covering just about every nook and cranny in the room.

With one last smile in her direction, they exited in a beeline, leaving Laura alone and more bewildered than before. The only explanation that her mind could fathom at the moment was Bianka.

Did Biank meet someone?

Does Bianka have an italian suitor she didn't know about?

It was a huge possibility.

Laura absently stroked another blooming vase of peonies resting on the island counter. Despite her wariness about their whole situation, the flowers were lovely.

After making sure all her essentials were in her purse, she left their suite. The elevators opened to another part the lobby where the sweet music of Bach erupted into the air. She smiled. Her gaze lingered on the black ivory at the center of the room. The bench, unmanned and almost calling her. Her fingers itched, threatening to dissuade her steps.

She grounded herself and walked to the restaurant. A little crowd of finely-dressed people were already waiting.

This restaurant was one of the best on the island, as Brusitz kept bragging. Laura patiently waited in queue, bouncing on her heels. If Bianka was here, they wouldn't have to wait. All it would take was a charming smile and a flirty wink and the helpless host would succumb to her friend. And she'd roll her eyes at Bianka, and offered apologetic smiles on the people behind them. But Laura didn't mind this small sacrifice.

Once the host sat her at their table, she tried calling Bianka again. But, still unanswered. A sommelier approached her and showed her the wine menu. Laura smiled politely and asked her to come back later as she was still waiting for her friend.

She pulled her phone and called Bianka again. And again, it went to voicemail. She glanced at the clock on her phone and felt another frown crowd her features.

Spa treatments usually only last an hour max.

_Unless they do it different here in Italy._

For the second time, Laura pushed her worry and studied the menu to past the time. She entertained herself with the Italian jaw breakers. Even went as far as memorizing the restaurant's number in case she and Bianka wanted room service.

A cacophony of light conversations filled the restaurant. Every chair and black-clothed-table teemed with handsome people dressed in their Sundays best. The warm, yellowish tint in the room emitted romantic vibes that Italy had already been born with.

But as the clanking of utensils ceased and deceased, she heard her stomach gurgle. She re-checked her phone again and felt a nagging thought corner her mind. The male server approached her for the fourth time, offering a slight appetizer as she waited. Laura conceded, opting for some bread and olive oil.

She called Bianka again and sensed the uneasiness in her chest when she didn't answer. Bianka was never without her phone, it might as well be the extension of her right hand. She was about to stand up and asked the host if they could call the spa when a voice called behind her.

"Signora Biel! Good evening! So, nice to see you again." greeted the vibrant hotel manager, other guests looked over as the man walked to her table.

Laura gave him her best everything's-okay- smile. "Mr. Brusitz, hello."

The hotel manager must have sensed her discomfort because his enthusiastic resolve melted. "Is everything alright, Signora?"

"Everything's fine. It's..." she budged, not wanting to gather more attention than they already had. But hell, it was Bianka.

"I couldn't contact my friend. She had a spa session a while ago and she—"

"Not to worry, Signora." Brusitz chimed in. "We would call Chris for you. He's the designated supervisor at the spa today." he turned to the passing hostess and said something in Italian. She only registered the word, Bianka Atnos. The server nodded and left.

Brusitz turned to her again, beaming and still hovering her table. Laura was thankful for the company. "I trust that the flowers made their way to your room?"

"I— yes." She answered, preoccupied, eyeing the direction where the hostess went.

Before the manager could fill the silence, Laura saw the hostess returning. She was holding a note while balancing a tray of drinks.

"Mr. Brusitz, Miss Biel. Chris said there was a Bianka Atnos who checked in for the 4:45 shiatsu treatment today…"

Laura breathed a small sigh of relief.

"… But she left before she finished her session."

Laura felt her eyebrows furrow and she pulled her phone from her purse to reread Bianka's last message. Her stomach dropped. The uneasiness in her stomach became more palpable. It wasn't normal for Bianka to leave her favorite pastime unceremoniously. She felt Brusitz and the hostess' concerned gazes on her. The people on the nearby tables also leant her an ear.

The hotel manager provided aid and spoke, "We could check the CCTV cameras, Signora Biel. And I could ask Mariano to check the room for you? In case, she was there?"

Laura raised her eyes and offered a grateful smile. "I hope it's no problem."

"Not at all, Signora!" Beamed Brusitz and turned to the hostess again. "Hold this table, until we come back."

"Shall we, Miss Biel?" he opened his arms, a hand holding the back of her chair.

Laura stood up, flashing him another smile. "Thank you so much, Mr. Brusitz."

The hotel manager led them to the lobby and to his office. Brusitz pulled a leather chair from his lounge and called his secretary. The woman rushed forward and positioned the monitor so it was facing them. Laura couldn't help but feel a little guilty at the attention.

She'd get back at Bianka for this humiliation, _if she proved to be out of trouble, of course._

After a few clicks, the woman pulled up the entrance to a well-lit spa lobby. The time stamped was 4:48. There wasn't any available audio so the three watched in silence.

On the screen, Bianka arrived, still dressed in her swimming ensemble. She approached the receptionist who immediately showed her to a hallway. She saw Bianka entered the room and a while later, a female masseuse followed.

Brusik told her secretary to fast forward the log, keeping the thumbnails of the hallways on. The secretary slowed down as Bianka exited the massage room; the time was 5:20. Bianka seemed to be in a hurry, she had her things with one hand, one strap of her cover up was dangling down her shoulder.

"Now, put up the corridor leading to the lobby, the pool and the restaurant, would you Carlita?"

"Yes, sir."

Carlita pulled up new screens, until they could see Bianka's retreating figure. She went to the lobby, properly dressed now. She was approaching a man by the reception.

Laura groaned. If Bianka stood her up for another man, she'll throw a fit.

The man's face was still hidden from the view. Carlita's fingers typed something on the keyboard and all angles of the lobby came into view.

Without warning, her skin prickled and she felt the air in the room get a whole lot sinister.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Laura cursed in polish, watching as an equally annoyed Bianka grabbed Martin's arm. She led him to the least crowded part in the lobby.

"You know this man, Signora?" Brusitz asked behind her.

She nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. Bianka appeared to be scolding him. The prick rubbed the back of his neck— a nervous gesture, she noted. Bianka threw her hands in frustration and pointed to the entrance door. A universal gesture telling him to leave. Martin shook his head. His mouth moved to say something and for a while, Bianka was silent and unmoving. Laura waited in painful anticipation, sitting straighter in her seat.

_Yes Bianka, tell him to fucking leave!_ Laura almost shouted at the screen.

To her ire, Bianka nodded, a curt small nod, before turning to the elevator. Martin followed her, eyes cast down, almost coy—which he never was.

The elevators closed on them and Laura heard distant alarms rung in her head. The foreboding sense of something nauseous thrummed in her throat.

Laura swallowed the heavy lump in her throat as she felt Carlita's heedful glance. The secretary was as reluctant as she was. As though, they could sense the direction of each other's thoughts.

It made her even more nervous.

But behind them, the hotel manager, shifted in his foot. Laura could feel his impatience at their qualms.

"Pull up the elevator cameras, Carlita, dear." He urged, oblivious to their unsettling discomfort. Laura couldn't decide whether to thank him or scold him for pressing forward.

With a helpless sigh, Carlita made a few clicks. The computer showed and opened at the only camera in the elevator Bianka and Martin rode. They stood on opposite sides; Martin stood at the far left, holding his duffel bag, one hand resting on the rail. Bianka leaned her shoulder on the wall near the lift buttons. She was vacantly staring at the illuminated P and 7th button. Laura knew that on the 7th floor was the deluxe room, she initially paid for her and Martin.

A cold, bitter taste filled her veins as Martin said something that made Bianka turned around. Bianka dropped her things and Martin took a step forward. The last thing she saw before turning away, was Martin reaching for Bianka's neck. She couldn't think. Couldn't abate her heart from spewing ugly emotions of betrayal, anger, and everything else in between.

Laura braced herself, she didn't know whether to cry or vomit. Behind her, Brusitz cleared his throat, finally able to sense emotions.

After a few grueling seconds, Brusik murmured, hesitant. "Miss Biel?"

Loss for words and still shaking from what she'd discovered, Laura remained silent.

She stood up, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder, barely holding her tears at bay.

"Well… uh…" she stuttered, unable to keep her voice from trembling. "Th—thank you Mr. Brusitz, Miss Carlita for your help. Have a good night."

Without waiting for a reply, Laura left the room.

Her feet led her out the building and into the adjacent garden backlit by the stars and a few lamp posts. The night air, colder and harsher on her exposed arms. She shivered, before allowing the tears to finally run down her face. A sob broke out before realizing that she couldn't care less about Martin. He could sleep with all of Poland for all she cared.

But Bianka?

Bianka?

Another sob broke past her trembling lips and Laura cupped her mouth, trying to muffle them. She saw a bench and sunk down on it, her body wracking with uncontrollable sobs. She couldn't go back to her room now. She cursed, feeling nauseous of the food she didn't get to eat.

Suddenly, something clicked inside her head.

Did Martin send those flowers for her? He could be pretty outlandish when he's trying to make up for something. Did he change the reservation? Did he do all these things to cover the fact that he was cheating on her? With her best friend? Of all people?

Laura felt the terrifying way her chest was beating in her ears. She inhaled a few deep breaths, calming her erratic, abnormal heart from bursting. Her vision blurred, her eyesight went a dangerous kind of cloudy.

The very air, she was breathing became suffocating. She felt the rise of panic in her upper chest and throat, snaking up to render her unconscious. She gripped the edge of the bench as she steeled herself for the quake.

_Think Bach._ She thought to herself, imagining her fingers moving the same pace as the masters. _Claire Delune._

She scrunched her eyes close and allowed her body to melt with every exhale.

_Grandmama playing the piano, sitting beside you, teaching you. You are watching her fingers float over the black and white keys, the most soothing of sight._

After a few more breaths, she felt the lighter tension in her body. Laura laid a hand on her chest and felt the muscle relaxing, albeit slow.

Laura knew she hated celebrating her birthdays for a reason. But this one, just knocked every unnamed reason off the _fucking_ charts. It was too much for her to bear. She needed to distance herself, to get away, from both of them. Laura couldn't bear to linger on the thought that Bianka destroyed years of friendship over a deadbeat like Martin. She knew better. She and her both.

After making sure that her legs were stable enough, she stood up. Laura wiped her tear stained cheeks and took a deep breath of composure.

Her new birthday goal still stands; her vacation won't be ruined. She's still going to enjoy herself… Or die trying.

Laura's gaze fell on the parking lot across her. A black shiny limousine with the hotel's logo gleamed under the lamppost, waiting idly by.

_Didn't Brusitz mention about a driver and a car?_

* * *

There's nothing more diverting, more bittersweet for a crushed soul than Sicily at night.

Even with the favorable distance between the bar and the dance floor, the ground shook from its occupants. Bodies swarmed the dance floor at the center of the room. Their bodies ground against each other, seeking carnal and temporary warmth for the night. The electronic millennial music was blaring in her ears, a welcoming distraction.

Laura opted for the light alcohol. After all, her brain was still aware that she was drinking, _alone_ , in a bar, in a foreign country.

Martin and Bianka's kiss flashed, unbidden, before her eyes. With outstanding effort, she tried to shut them until her thoughts became hazy. The female bartender gave her a pity look and asked her again if she wanted to nibble something with her wine. Laura shook her head, but thanked the woman; she was content with her bottle. She let the wine douse her parched throat, let it numb the gnawing sorrow. Thankfully, men left her alone. Until, Laura found herself inclined on the sound of someone cursing in Polish.

She turned her head and saw a good-looking guy hissing on the wet stain on his elbow. He leaned over the counter and ordered a round of drinks.

His eyes fell on her, and he smiled—a friendly smile.

"Are you Polish?" He asked in her dialect, making her smile in return.

In a foreign land, their common language proved to be a convivial comfort.

So, she nodded. The brown-haired man uttered a great sigh of relief. His perfectly trimmed nails going up his chest.

"Finally! Do you mind if I sit here for a while? I've used up all my English and Italian to my new co-workers. I've run out for the night." He rambled with a tone higher than most men.

Laura was ready to shake her head for rejection, but the man raised both hands.

"You're beautiful, but no, I won't be hitting on you. I'm gay."

She shrugged, still unsure.

"I'm Aaron, by the way. From Krakow." He held up a hand. There was a sharp flick of his wrists that definitely couldn't be fake. Laura felt at ease.

At least, he wasn't pretending to be gay to hit on her.

The "Stranger Danger" alarm left her mind and found herself, grateful for the company.

"Laura. Warsaw."

Aaron smiled at her, rotated his chair to face her. His effeminate hand dangling on the edge of the bar. The other was tucking his shirt, hair behind his ear.

Still speaking in their dialect, he began. "I have the same pair of shoes at home."

Laura let out a chuckle. "Why didn't you wear them?"

"It won't go with this outfit." He gestured down to his clothes; a crimson dress shirt and l brown pants.

"I'm sure it would." She complimented, and eyeing the comfortable tan Derbys on his feet. "I'll exchange you for mine."

Aaron smirked before raising his shot glass for a toast. His pinky finger pointing towards her.

"Poland couldn't hold us. Italy, look out."

Laura clanked their glasses and fell into a conversation. Aaron was funny. She laughed, enjoying the company. They ordered a few more light drinks, shared snacks between conversation.

The common and expected effects of alcohol was finally taking its toll on her. Her words became unfiltered as the night progressed. The impeccable honest statements that she'd normally kept to herself, let themselves known.

Laura was well beyond caring. She felt her mouth move of their own accord, narrating her life story to the stranger.

"—Wait. So, your best friend, whom you paid for the flight is screwing your fiancé?!"

The sting didn't hurt as much as it did before, she noticed.

Laura nodded, before raising a correcting finger in the air. "Ex-best friend, ex-fiancé."

Aaron looked at her as if she grew two heads before stealing her glass away from her. "Oh, hell no. Warsaw, hell no."

"Wha—"

"That revelation calls for a stronger alcohol." He emphasized, and with a look of disdain, glanced at her bottle. "Not that weak shit you're drinking."

"But—"

Aaron ignored her and called the bartender again."Two shots of your strongest tequila. But please put them in your finest wine glasses. Because we deserve that shit."

"I—"

"No excuses, Warsaw. Besides, your chauffeur is waiting for you outside. You're not gonna get into trouble." he sing-songed

Laura zipped it. Telling Aaron that she wasn't of sound heart for harder liquor felt like sinking herself further into the pity pot. Their round arrived arrived and Laura finished, one… two… three. Each taboo drink becoming even better than the last.

Her head started to swim, but she fought against it. The headache that she had this morning finally made its reappearance. Though this time, it was more brutal. Her pitiful state wasn't lost on her companion, his face was a mixture of reluctance and amazement.

"What? You, getting sloppy already, Krakow?" she challenged.

"That's the spirit!" Aaron exclaimed, clapping enthusiastic hands on the island.

As Aaron called the bartender again, she felt her body slumped forward. Her stomach grumbled in a way it hadn't before. Her eyes swiveled to the back of her skull from her impending headache. The room spun and Laura felt her forehead touched her elbows.

"Okay. No more. You've proven yourself. Let's go. I'll walk you to your car." her companion's disembodied voice echoed.

She twisted her head, as leisurely as she could, to look at him. "No. No. I could do it. I'm not weak. I'm not weak."

"No, you're not, Warsaw." She heard Aaron say in a strange tone, far from the high octave he was using earlier. But she wasn't sure.

Right now, all she wanted was to sleep.

Her focus began to dissipate, like a hand disturbing the calm, clear water. Her vision was getting even foggier. Her hearing, rung of discordant tunes. Laura wobbled in her seat. She wanted to get up, but couldn't. She groaned, resting her head on her folded arms on the table. Her eyes, closed.

"Laura?" Aaron called again.

She inhaled one big breath, pulling every ounce of reality as she possibly could,

And then, nothing.

* * *

The dark strobes of blue neon lights allowed to conceal past and future crimes from anyone's view. The music was sonorous in his ears, pumping and demanding the adrenaline he was more than willing to feel.

Everything became white noise and he could hardly control himself. Unfathomable tremors ran through his arms as he eyed her unconscious form. People evaded him as he passed; he must look as dangerous as he felt.

The man on the bar smirked, and closed his seat to where she was. Before he could encircle his arm about her waist, Massimo advanced.

And slammed the man's face on the bar with a satisfying crack.

The man screeched in pain and horror, his arms flailing around him.

Massimo grabbed the man by his neck and threw him to the ground, kicking his torso, his legs. Any limb that caught his foot.

He heard the audible gasps around him. The patrons scrammed out of their seats, trying to avoid the conflict. The bartenders stood on the opposite end before skittering away. Passerby shrieked and rounded the bar, before fleeing in the other direction. They must've seen his gun trembling and ready, in his hand.

Massimo allowed himself a small moment of calmness. He ceased his kicks and tucked his gun back, Safety On. His gaze fell on Laura; she was insentient and uncharacteristically pale. Her head lay sideways, facing him. Her lips parted, her breathing shallow and weak.

"Laura?"

For the first time in a long time, he heard his voice croak.

_Finally_ , a name to his savior who effusively haunted him for the best of five years.

Laura?" He repeated again, still reluctant to touch her skin.

Massimo removed his jacket in haste and draped it over her lithe figure. Her lack of movement reminded him of the offense illicitly done against her.

He turned towards the man again who was still crowing in pain on the ground.

"What have you done?" Massimo voiced, tone brittle and grating. He crouched, squeezed the man's neck, hauling him back to his feet. The vermin's eyes widened in both recognition and in fear. Though, the latter emotion was much more evident. It all but fueled the blinding wrath in every fiber in his body.

"Do–Don Massimo."

Massimo could feel the pumping of blood around his fingers. A surge of satisfaction flowed through him when he noticed the lip cut and the purple bruise on the man's jaw. He tightened his hand, and the man's eyes bulged.

"I asked you a question. Answer it."

"I– I don't know."

He swung his fist at him, letting every punch reciprocate his anger. He was delirious by the thrill of hearing the pained groans and of his scraped knuckles meeting skin. The rave continued in the background. But a little crowd watched the commotion, but nobody dared stop him. He held the man's neck again as he pulled him back up on his feet.

"I hope you have an answer for me now."

The man stammered pathetic apologies in his passable Italian. Massimo willed himself, though very much aware that he could snap the man's neck in a tiny flex.

He could do it. He could let everyone see, first hand, how much a monster he could be. His free hand went to his sidearm. Massimo dug his gun on the man's ribs, making sure he felt and heard him cocking the trigger. The man squirmed like a little worm.

"Again," Massimo squeezed him by the neck. "What did you give her?"

"I do–don't know. It was a new formula." The man choked, hands crawling for release. "I bo–bought it from the docks!"

Massimo freed him and the man fell down in a heap, clutching his neck as he took in air.

He gritted his teeth, recalling a new drug shipment they inspected a week ago. Massimo didn't buy it. From time to time, he indulged other colleagues have a taste of that power. If his memory served him correct, it was the Venezia family that bought and distributed it.

The families had no control whatsoever who will purchase them, as long as they sell. Massimo knew that. Although cruel and merciless, both families shared the same ethical philosophy. Drugging innocent bystanders were one of them.

Behind him, he heard Domenico call his name. He saw his men, lead by Domenico, descended the spiral staircase in top speed. With a final tug on the man's shoulder, Massimo hurled him to his men. The bleeding man staggered away before two of his boys picked him up, grasped either of his arms and lead him out.

"Get him to the villa. I'm not done with him yet." He ordered his passing guard who nodded in reply.

Massimo always felt that he was too important to take part in bar fights. Massimo learned to tame his violent urges, he always has to be level-headed. Though, if deemed necessary, he would never back out of any fight. Domenico, on the other hand, indulged himself with it from time to time. Like all his life-threatening vices. And that was why his brother already had his sleeves rolled up, ready to fight.

He felt Domenico's disappointed gaze on him. His brother's shoulders fell as their men dragged the wailing junkie behind them.

"What happened?"

Massimo ignored him and turned to Laura at once. He handed Domenico his gun, who, again, gave him an inquisitive look. 

Massimo held her shoulders, mindful to not let a scabbed hand touch her skin. An arm went behind her legs to hoist her up, before he settled her in his chest.

_God, she's paperweight._

Her head un-coordinatedly rolled on his shoulder, making him suck in a breath. An unfamiliar feeling of worry evaded him.

New formulas, sometimes required special management. And assuming that Laura had never taken drugs her entire life, he might need a professional to look at her.

"Get the car, Domenico. We're going to the hospital." He told his brother who was still eyeing him with curiosity. His eyes fell on the woman on his arms, then to him.

_Get there sooner, brother._

Domenico was about to open his mouth for a smart retort, before he shut it. His eyes flicked to him and Laura, before widening in realization.

"Is that—"

_Finally._

"The car, Domenico." He ordered again. His voice was low with anger, impatience and... A powering emotion he thought he'd forgotten; _fear_.

* * *

_She felt a solid wall of warmth cradled her._

_She could feel the guttural voice in her body. Word after word, it rumbled, vibrated off her arm._

_She heard someone whisper her name in a tone she'd never heard before. Soft and pleading, like a prayer and worship. She felt the hot air blowing her face as the voice repeated again. "Laura."_

_Fiddling fingers grasped her legs in a vice-like grip, holding on to her. As though the person holding her was afraid she'll let go._

_I won't._

_She tried to speak, too gone in her own mind to think_ _rationally_ _._

The persistent pitter patter of water hitting glass woke her.

Laura blinked, eyes half lidded and heavy.

She swallowed, grimacing at the dryness in her throat. Her limbs weighed like barbells. Her brain felt like someone poked it with a hot stick and melted it.

_The lasting effects of a terrible hangover._

A long groan escaped her lips as her eyes took its precious time to focus on the ceiling.

There was something weird about it, she thought. The ceiling, she was staring was rough and made of stone, far from the seamless hotel ceilings she's used to. Her hands felt the silk around her, smooth and cuddly but… _odd._

The room was silent except for the continuous, faint drip of _something_ on her left. Laura turned her head to the sound and saw a hooked IV bag. Brain fuzzy, she frowned, before following the line, curious as to where it leads. Her eyes ended on her left hand and she bolted upright in fright and confusion... Which was a big mistake.

Her head swam from the movement and she plopped down the pillows with a whimper. With great effort, she lifted her arms and dug her palms on her eye sockets.

_Where was she?_

The last thing she remembered was the bar, Aaron and the drinks they were having. Her eyes swelled out of its sockets as panic rose again. She sat up, leaned against the headboard and lifted the duvet.

She saw what she was wearing; an oversized shirt and gray sweats, _man sizes_. She was wearing an underwear, but no bra. She gulped. Her hands groped her body in alarming distress. Fingers fumbled her arms, breast, abdomen and legs for any kind of abuse and soreness.

But aside from the half empty IV bag and grogginess, she didn't feel any different. Her relief was short-lived though as she took in her whereabouts.

The room was bigger than any hotel room she'd ever been. At the foot of the king-size bed were a few shopping bags. Ahead and facing the bed was an open shower. Beside the IV stand was an armchair facing the bed.

On the side table were clean gauze, cotton balls and bottles of pills. Laura recognized the label of her own prescription pills. A tall, clear glass of what she hoped was water lie on the side. She smelled it, dipped her tongue to taste before downing the glass in one go.

Questions finally became cohesive and clearer in her head as soon as she quenched her thirst.

How long has she been out?

Where's Aaron?

Did she go home with him?

Laura removed the needle on her arm and used the nearby first aid kit to cover the prick. She stood up, as slowly and quietly as she could to the window. Her bare feet met marble and she recoiled from the instant cold.

As soon as she parted the drapes, she felt her heartbeat pick up again.

The heavy rain was sloshing havoc outside. The little light from the moon diffused an enchanted glow on the swimming pool below. Next to it was a garden and labyrinth of trimmed hedges and flowers. At the dead center the maze, Laura could make out a gazebo. She rattled the window, unsurprised to find it locked.

Where was she?

As if on cue, she heard voices echoing outside the room. Laura froze, feeling her heart jumped all the way up her throat. Fear engulfed her as she held her breath and only felt it loosen as the voices fade away.

So far, she only had two options. She could stay here, wait for anyone. Or she could feed her curiosity and the adrenaline in her system and find out.

It was her drip-addled mind that made the choice.

She went about the room, looking for her things, her phone and some weapon to defend herself with. She inspected the shopping bags which were full of women clothes and undergarments. The tag prices were still attached to them, and to add to her confusion, it was her size. Laura left them alone and continued her search. But found nada.

As a last resort, she eyed the IV stand and prayed that the rod was detachable. After a few spins and maneuvers, the rod separated into two parts. Laura almost shouted her relief. She held the shorter stem, swung it for a test run before trekking towards the door.

The plan was to steal a phone and call the hotel restaurant— the only local number she'd memorized.

The hallways were dark and quiet. The low dim light illuminated the stucco walls in an almost intimate glow. Laura glanced back at her room, remembering the look of the door. In case she couldn't find her way out tonight, she could try again tomorrow.

She watched her footing, keeping it light and weightless as possible. Her weapon, raised and ready for any oncoming attack. Although, if she really was being honest with herself, she didn't feel as trapped as she should have been. Aaron (or whoever they were), didn't lock her door. And they attached her to an IV after all (though, the reason for that was still unknown). If that wasn't an act of concern and goodwill, what could it be? She intended to find out.

She followed the sconces lining the rough walls until it opened to an atrium. The rain clacked against the glass roof. The angry droplets reflected on the checkered tiles below it, like little ants. She continued on. Ancient looking vases and expensive looking furniture met her every turn. And various paintings of seascapes and stormy skies.

_Is this a museum?_ She allowed herself to ponder.

Judging from the enormous space and intricate interiors, she might as well be.

Laura fought the sense of helplessness threatening to resurface. She lowered down her weapon, but remained a tight grip on it as she continued her blind journey. She remained in the shadows, her body aware and alert for any sound or movement. Her breathing had been calm, quite the opposite of how her heart was at the moment. She leaned against the stone columns for a quick reprieve. The harsh coldness seeped through her clothes, making her hiss again. She felt the light bead of sweat damped her back as she took in her surroundings. Still no doors or phones within sight.

But then she heard something.

Laura froze again and held her breath. She peeked behind her hiding spot, switching from column to column to find the sound.

And she saw it; a doorway.

She wallowed in her victory for a few seconds before she sank bank. An old woman, dressed in maid uniform emerged from it. She was humming to herself, while holding a large tray of pitcher in her hand. Before the door behind her could close, Laura saw leather couches and armchairs.

_Another living room!_

Bingo!

As soon as the woman was out of sight, Laura ran for it. Her bare, now mucky feet slapped in silent thumps against the terracotta tiles. Her weapon, still at hand. She let her back rest against the closed door for a minute before examining the room she's in.

At the far left end was an office desk and Laura's eyes leapt to the wood. She saw the empty housing of a wireless phone, but no handset. She cursed and inspected the desk again.

The desk was clean of any clutter, the leather office chair, manly and sturdy. The opposite end was scantily lit, but Laura could make out the dark bookshelves on the walls.

An old-fashioned brick fireplace stood in the central part of the room. The fire cast long shadows on the expensive-looking lounges and armchairs facing it. The orange flames, were a menacing comfort to her worry and disappointment.

Above the hearth was another large painting of a seascape. Wall lights pinned above it, giving emphasis. Unlike the other paintings she skimmed outside, this looked far more intimate, far more… _personal_. It wasn't realistic and chirpy as others might've preferred but it was equally beguiling in its own way.

The oil painting covered most of the wall. The thick wooden frames, a villainous black and religiously polished. A few cracks were noticeable in some parts of the canvas, but it didn't affect the charm of the painting. The sky was a gloomy purplish gray. On the dark turquoise waters voyaged three boats, all had gray sails. The closest boat was the central figure. Billows of white waves surround it to give the feeling of movement.

Laura inclined her neck, inspecting the painting as if hypnotized by the fluidity of the waves. There was something oddly familiar about the dark pigment used for the water. Laura took another step, letting her armed steel lie useless at her side for a minute. She felt the warmth of the hearth brushed her legs.

On the mantel stood trinkets and vignettes of decor. One of it was an old Victorian mirror. Laura caught a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror before it riveted back to the painting. She glanced at the mirror again, observing her eyes and then back to the painting. For a crazy minute, she could have sworn that the sea in the painting and her eyes shared the same color.

"It's a real Monet, if you're wondering." A deep modulated voice she hadn't heard before, interrupted.

Laura blanched and jumped back. She raised the aluminum rod and pointed it at the voice. A silhouette figure of a man was leaning against the doorway, between the bookshelves she'd noticed earlier.

"What are you talking about?" She heard herself reply, vaguely aware that she had asked the wrong question.

She couldn't see him; the lights were off at that part of the wall. The man, chuckled, tilted his chin towards the wall. "The painting." He said, his hands were in his pockets and his weight on his crossed ankles. "It's a real Monet, called "The Green Wave."

Laura turned her head and saw, for the first time, the black scribble on the down right corner of the painting. If she was in a more normal situation, Laura would've gaped. But she wasn't. Her mind was finally beginning to grasp the potential danger she was in. She recomposed herself and eyed the stranger, the staff was shaking in her hand.

"I had to go in a lot of trouble to get—"

"I don't care! Where am I? Who are you?!"

The man gave a short chuckle and Laura gripped the aluminum a whole lot tighter. Besides his tall built, Laura couldn't make out his face. It made him look more dangerous and unpredictable. The man didn't reply so she shouted, her voice disturbing the eerie peace the stone walls emit. "Answer me!"

The fire flickered beside her, offering the last bits of comfort to her shocked limbs. She could hear the loud crackling of burning wood on the hearth as time seemed to halt. The man pushed himself from the shadows and strode towards her. 

Laura didn't try to hide her gasp as the vivid flames finally reached the stranger.

She could feel her heart hammering a disturbing gallop inside her chest as their eyes met. His brown eyes- the color of melted chocolate- stared back at her in life and in wonder. She'd recognize them anywhere.

His curly hair had been swept and tucked into submission. He was leaner. His black ensemble, pressed and formal, insinuating both power and mystery. For a moment, she let her eyes drift towards his hip, right where she could still recall the bullet sucking his life away.

He stopped in front of her, towering over her petite frame. A small, almost nervous smile coated his perfect lips. Their breathing was quick, mingled but anticipative.

He lowered the staff pointed at him. Laura felt his fingers unclasping her hand from her own grip on it. The aluminum rod fell by her side, her right hand didn't relinquish its hold.

Without taking his eyes off her, the man held her free hand in his. He slightly bent his back and pressed his warm lips on her knuckles.

"Mio angelo." He whispered against her hand. His voice, his brown, brown eyes wrapped around her like a thick, warm, velvet blanket.

Laura sucked in a breath; those were the same words he uttered before he passed out. She stared, mesmerized by force and magnitude of the air between them.

But then he took a cautious step back, giving her her space once more.

Laura couldn't speak. Her mind circuited from the electrifying sparks from where he had touched her. Her lips parted in an involuntary motion as she tried to take in as air as much as possible, the air he'd obliviously stolen from her.

His eyes roamed her face with bafflement and marvel. As if he was trying to piece a missing part of a puzzle for so many years and now, he had finally completed it.

Laura started to feel the sweat for reasons other than the fireplace beside them.

* * *

He had been standing there for quite some time.

Massimo had just finished a call with Jose Venezia whom he informed of the junkies frolicking the city, drugging tourists. Venezia was furious… or was he just acting just to favor him? _That was likely the case._ Either way, Massimo was satisfied.

The door in the bookshelf made the tiniest creak as he opened it. But he slowed as he heard someone spat something he couldn't understand.

No one was allowed in his study, except his old nanny, Elena. Domenico sneaks in sometimes, trying to find an inexistent stash of cigarettes.

Massimo peeped behind the opening, ready to scold the intruder, but stopped when he saw Laura. She was standing in front of his fireplace.

He felt the inexplicable urge to flee and hide, but he forced himself to stay, hold his ground.

_He was Massimo Torricelli, for fuck's sake!_

And like a true loser, he gawked at her. All the while tempering the swarm of insects crawling its way to his body.

The rod she was holding almost exposed him; a heartfelt laugh bubbling in his throat when he first noticed it.

When he was sure that his voice was strong enough to quip something blithe and easy, he spoke.

He's rewarded by her goading the steel to him and her heightened voice. Massimo chuckled at the light threat. If she was anyone, she'd be handcuffed to the bed, or on a cross, with a gag in her mouth to muffle her screams.

Massimo didn't linger on those thoughts, afraid that his body was going to betray him and he'd scare her away. Because, as far as he's concerned, there's something about her. Something… _different,_ that's making him wanna be careful, thoughtful… _gentle_. For the first and only time in his life.

With their eyes in total lockdown, Massimo traipsed towards her. His brain, constantly telling him to move his legs, step forward, one foot in front of the other, breathe, _be_.

And although his tarnished fingers felt undeserving of her slender ones, he took them. They were so small, so soft compared to his, that Massimo fought his need to ogle at them once again.

These were the hands that saved him. The hands that pulled him back from what could've been his early demise. This tiny woman, whom he'd been dreaming of all those five years. He owed her his life.

Her turquoise eyes delivered him speechless, weakening his knees and innate resolve. He could tell that he took her by surprise as well. Laura was motionless and stared at him, watching his face.

And for a fleeting moment, Massimo realized that if she asked for the world right now, he'd give it to her.

Come hell or high water, in his tattered clothes, on his scraped knees and bloodstained hands. He would _fucking_ give it.

For more than he was willing to admit, the dangerous thought took him again by surprise. He recoiled away from her touch.

And then he remembered that she wasn't supposed to be out of bed. The doctor advised that after being nearly overdosed, she needed ample rest.

Massimo raised the phone and called Elena.

> **_"Signor?"_ **
> 
> **"Elena, yes. Bring the food here in my study. She's awake."** He said in Italian, still keeping an eye on her.
> 
> **_"Si, Don Massimo."_ **

He returned the phone to its switch hook and sat on the edge of his desk. His hands curled over the wood, legs stretched out in front of him, feigning indifference when he was anything but.

Laura was still staring at him. Her mouth moved and it took a few seconds for her words to sink into him.

"Where am I?" She muttered, her hold on her "weapon" never loosened.

He decided to pacify her tensed shoulders and her white-knuckled grip. Lest she hurt herself. "You can put down the IV stand. No one here is gonna hurt you."

"That doesn't answer my question." She said, her voice much more confident and louder this time. She jutted her jaw with feistiness.

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk into a smirk.

"You're in my residence. Still in Sicily…" he shrugged before emphasizing his next words. "And no, I didn't kidnap you nor am I holding you here against your wishes."

"Then what the fuck am I doing here?" She spat with impatience clear in her inflection. Her eyes have now turned into a darker cyan, narrowing at him.

He crossed his arms in front of him, trying to still his temper at the thought of the man again. "You're here because that dick you met at the bar drugged you, spiked your drink."

"Aaron did what?!"

He scoffed, repulsed that the pest even has a name. "He almost overdosed you. Don't worry. He got what he deserved." Massimo sneered, hiding his hand and clenching the bruised knuckles. He wondered if somebody found him yet. After beating him to a pulp, he told his men to drop the man near a hospital where somebody could see him... Still moaning in excruciating pain. Hopefully.

"I—I fainted." She remarked, although Massimo got the sense that she didn't mean to say it out loud. Her face flushed, a healthy blush pink due to her humiliation.

It was… _endearing_.

Massimo suppressed another smile before nodding. "He was about to drag you away before I intervened."

"How long was I out?"

"I brought you to the hospital yesterday. The hospital discharged you this morning and I brought you here."

Laura nodded with an act of defiance. Though, her cheeks were still tainted with her embarrassment.

"And, you got drunk, which made it even worse." he added with a slight accusation in his intonation. "I took the liberty of reading your records—"

"How?" She cut in, meeting his gaze, a renewed fire alight in them.

"I have my ways." He punctuated in a dominating tone, indicating that _challenge accepted_.

"Enlighten me."

"The details will bore you."

Massimo wasn't about to admit that he's been scouring the world her for the last five years. Even he wasn't gonna admit that he was already at _that_ level of creepy.

"Oh, but I insist." She asserted in a patronizing tone he had never heard from anyone before.

"I have many… _friends_ in the right places _."_

_"_ And your friends just handed you my private health information?" She retorted, her face distorting at the word "friends". "That easy?"

"Yes."

She rebuked, locking her penetrating gaze on him. "That's illegal."

He shrugged, slanting his head as if to say, _well_.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do that for me?"

"Would you rather not?" he cocked his eyebrows at her.

"Why would somebody do that for you, then?" She pursed her lips, looking annoyed.

"Because, I am me." He reiterated with an air of arrogance and finality. "People do things because I told them to."

Laura acted her disapproval by pressing her lips into a thin line, her jaw, tensed and sharp.

"I'd like my stuff before I go back to my hotel, please."

Massimo wouldn't deny how his stomach dropped at her statement. But before he could form an answer, nature did it for him. A peal of thunder shook the walls before an intermittent flash of lightning followed. The electricity flickered off, making Laura flinch.

And for a minute, the fireplace provided the only warmth and light in the otherwise dingy room. His eyes went to the ceiling, waiting. His ears perked up at the distant sound of the emergency generator, and the lights were on again.

"They close the road when the weather's bad." He jeered, smug, putting his hands insides his pockets. "If you won't take my word for it, be my guest."

She glared at him. And for a second, he thought she's gonna spear him with her stainless steel. Her temper was amusing.

Massimo pushed on, invigorated by her irritation. "Now, I have nothing against drinking or testing limits. But at least take consideration that you are a woman, alone in a foreign country. What on earth possessed you to wander the city at night all by yourself?"

She remained silent but something, akin to hurt crossed her eyes. Wide turquoise orbs left his and focused on the dancing flames on the hearth. She sniffed and hurriedly wiped a glistening tear on her cheek.

Then he remembered the stolen pictures of her ex-fiancé and her best friend that his IT team sent on his phone. The rage he felt yesterday reappeared in a torrid of flashback. Zalewski and Atnos had been going behind her back for months. His sources managed to retrieve photos of them going out (the two weren't being sneaky about it). His tech guy also sent him their disgusting chains of text messages spanning to five months. And, if there was anything Massimo hated most of all... If there was anything that could easily turn him into the merciless monster he was, it was disloyalty.

"My apologies." The words were out of his mouth before he could process it. "I didn't mean to—"

Her sullen eyes returned to his. The misery was plain in them as she blinked. "It's fine."

Seeing her cry was very disarming and uncomfortable. Massimo clenched his fists, nails digging on his palms. It was taking all his willpower right now not to order his men to "fetch" Zalewski and Atnos at the hotel.

Laura watched the fire again as he watched her in return. She was stunning, that was a fact, even more so, barefoot and in his clothes. His memory didn't do her enough justice. But didn't she see the new sets of clothes in her bedroom? He picked them himself, having spent more than an hour guessing at what she'll like.

Seconds turned into minutes and to be honest, Massimo relished the silence. The rain continued its onslaught outside. The homey redolence of burnt wood hovered around them, cocooning them from the world.

It was hard to tell where his mind was at. Unsaid words swirled around the crevices, words he imagined he'd say to her left unspoken. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost jumped when she brought her attention back to him.

"You were…" she hesitated, her fingers still fidgeting on the rod and at her side. "You were the man in the restaurant… A few years ago."

Massimo straightened in his seat, feeling nervous and quite restless by what's coming. "Yes."

"You're the one who got shot." 

"Yes." he whispered back. 

"You were dying."

"Yes."

The word rolled off his tongue in the gentlest of tones uncommon to him. Her eyes were boring into his with so much intensity, he was afraid she could see the tainted mark of his doomed soul.

"And I… I saved you?"

The last part wasn't self-righteous, but rather, laced with awe and incredulity. There was a hint of emotion underlying every syllable there. Brightening every rotten crack in his black heart.

"You did." He answered, his voice, as soft as hers.

Silence befell on them once again. As his eyes devoured her, Massimo felt a monumental shift in him.

From the fiery glow of the hearth backlighting her, Laura looked like the sun. Blazing and glorious in all her entirety, one shouldn't gaze too long. But Massimo was more than willing and ready to burn.

The corners of her mouth twerked into the barest of smiles, he almost missed it. "So, I guess, we're even now."

She was walking towards him now and for the umpteenth time that night, he couldn't move.

Laura extended her left hand for a handshake. The band-aid from where the IV had been was ugly on her flawless skin. "I'm Laura. Laura Biel. But I have a feeling you know that already."

This time, he didn't mind introducing himself. He grasped her hand, copying her stoic expression. "Massimo."

"Well, _Massimo..."_ The sound of his name on her cupid-bow lips sent a new jolt of shock through his entire body. "I'm glad you lived." Her tone held much more conviction now, almost proud and cheeky. It made him smile.

"I'm glad I did."

They fell quiet again. She was standing close to him that he could smell the floral scent of jasmine of her perfume. He could feel the warmness of her breath from her parted lips. His eyes dropped to her the bridge of her nose straight to her lips. He felt his chest ramming with excitement as it parted under his gaze.

A door knock interrupted the tension budding between them.

"Come in." his voice broke. Laura took a step back and faced the door.

Elena appeared with a trolley of dinnerware, food, wine, glasses, and a small round cake. Laura stared at it, her reaction boring some semblance between embarrassed and horrified. The old woman laid them out on the coffee table before leaving the room without another word.

Massimo stood up from his desk and grabbed his old lighter from the mantelpiece. He cupped his hand as he lighted the short candle on the homemade vanilla cake.

"Eat." he demanded. "Before my brother gets wind of this. He has this weird thing with birthday cakes."

Massimo kept his eyes on the table, inspecting if everything was in order, thus, missing the way Laura's eyes gleamed at the first birthday cake she'd had for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all appreciated the "I didn't kidnap you" conversation. I don't know about you guys, but writing that scene puts me at ease. I would also love to know your thoughts about this (kinda) softer, sweeter version of Massimo... He's still gonna be bad and disgustingly sexy in the next chapter, trust me. ;) 
> 
> I still have the confrontation between Laura, Massimo, Bianka and Martin. I have one more chapter before I'm out of draft. If you guys have any ideas and suggestions for the next chapters, feel free to leave a comment or message me in FFN. I love to collaborate! 
> 
> If you're still here, tell me what you think of this chapter! I love reading your thoughts! And please correct me for errors.


	5. Hem and Haw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still here? 
> 
> It's been a crazy few months for me and my dogs so I apologized for the lack of update. I've been rereading all your wonderful comments and I hope you're still interested because I just decided to finish this story all the way through. 
> 
> If you're still here, thank you so much!

* * *

#  **HEM and HAW**

to stop often and change what one is saying during speech because one is not sure of what to say or because one is trying to avoid saying something

* * *

"I'm glad I did."

Laura felt another swirling sensation in her stomach as he studied her. His facial muscles twitched as he fought the smile she knew was there somewhere. If she wasn't so flustered about the way they're standing toe to toe, she could've hectored him about it too.

Laura stood straighter, feigning control of the situation. Massimo reciprocated by squaring his shoulders that he towered her again. Her chest and stomach was stuttering under his abiding scrutiny.

A silent, squirming battle befell between them. She didn't know who took another step. She couldn't help it; her gaze roamed the shadows on his face. She wondered if he was as intrigued at her as she was with him. From up close, he looked even more breathtaking— much to her dismay.

She could feel the sensuous warmth emanating from him. Laura smelt the smoky scent of his aftershave— sharp and imposing like everything that he was. The top buttons of his dress shirt was undone, allowing her a peek of his tanned chest and light wisps of hair .

He finally raised his eyes to hers from where they've been staring at her parted lips. The flickering fire beside them made the brown irises more mesmerizing. His expression was soft yet daunting and unfathomable. Laura tried to feign indifference. But she could feel the blood already rushing to her cheeks.

 _This is ridiculous._ She thought with vehemence. Laura had been around handsome and "intimidating" men before. Most of them were all brawn and no brain, shallow… _vapid_. And yet she could tell there was something about him. Something about his enigmatic demeanor that justifiably predominates of his gender. She still couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

He was ridiculously attractive, that was certain. Like Michelangelo's sculpture, David. Strong, mysterious, intimidating in every sense of the word thus, _dangerous._ Laura had a strong feeling that he was undoubtedly aware of it.

But her heart started drumming a new form of adrenaline when the tip of his tongue darted between his teeth. She started feeling dizzy, (and not in the way she was always dizzy after taking her meds). The feeling was baseless, strange.

And as irritating as it was, all her previous predicament seemed to recede from her mind. There was no pervert ex-boss, no two-timer fiancé, no Bianka, no junkie trying to roofie her. It's like the rules of the moral universe which correlated with her dignity don't apply anymore. Nothing mattered for her except this pivotal moment. Laura could only blame her ancestors for finding him attractive. It was frustrating because despite her untouchable resolve against men, she was still susceptible. She should be disappointed at herself for her actions and for the way her thoughts were going.

Laura gaped back at him until the only thing she could focus on was his lips. And how they seem to part as her breathing quickened.

His gaze lingered on her face, intent and dire with desperate concentration. Like he was mapping every pale inch of her skin. As a pact, she always made sure she looked presentable. She had never allowed anyone, not even her ex-fiancé, to see her unkempt. Yet, she didn't feel the slightest bit of embarrassed in her bedraggled state. And that was why, Laura found herself

returning his scrutiny with proper and rivaling conviction.

At the corner of her eye, she saw his hand jerk. In that split second, a small part of her thought he was gonna touch her. Another small part, anticipated his touch. She felt her cheeks heating up again at the thought of that prospect.

But a loud knock broke the room. And however weird and titilating that moment was, Laura recoiled. And the moment was gone.

Massimo blinked at her before clearing his throat and answering in a gruff voice. "Come in."

The old woman she saw earlier entered, pushing a kitchen cart stuffed with food. Laura's stomach instinctively gurgled at the view. There were two bottles of vintage-looking wine, shiny china, and glittering glasses. But the thing that struck her the most was the white-frosted cake that lie at the center of the cart. The woman didn't utter a single word as she lay the arrangement, even as she exited the room.

Her grandma's birthday was a day before hers. And as tradition in their family, they celebrated their birthdays together. The last time she had one was her grandma's last birthday almost six years ago. Laura drove for three hours to the nursing home to surprise her. She was carrying balloons and flowers for the happy occasion. But it turned out that her nurse let it slip that she was dropping by. Her lovely grandmama made an effort to bake a cake for her and arranged a small party with her fellow retirees. Laura was the one surprised instead. The memory made her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Eat. Before my brother gets wind of this." Massimo said as he stood up from lighting the candle. "He has a thing for birthday cakes." He added in a comical tone that almost didn't suit him.

The minutes-long suppressed chuckle escaped from her finally. Massimo looked up, bewildered, the look of a someone who wasn't aware that they said something funny. Laura, again, schooled her expression. But she thanked him and Massimo only nodded in acknowledgement.

She didn't like celebrating her birthday, that was true. But it had been a long time since somebody made an effort for her. And if she was being honest with herself, it was kind of sweet.

They stood in awkwardness for a few seconds before she bent down at the waist and blew out the candle. She stood up to see his stern expression but there was a delighted glint in his eyes.

Laura brazenly grabbed a ceramic plate and a fork. She offered it to him. Massimo looked at her and the plate, his eyebrows raised in either amusement or in question. Somehow, she was getting the idea that he had never serve food for himself.

Judging from the size of the house and pompous strides, Laura was confident in her assumption. She felt a sense of return of dignity at that. Pleased at herself, Laura finally welcomed her hunger. She grabbed her plate and without thinking, put the spoon in her mouth as she regarded the food in front of her.

Massimo remained standing, his hands were hugging the plate on his abdomen. For a moment, she studied the tattoos drawn on his hands.

"Well, sit down." She commanded after a minute, gesturing to the seat across her.

"I already ate."

She raised her eyes at him and pointed out. "Well, I can't finish this by myself."

"We'll throw out everything you couldn't." He dismissed.

She scoffed. "That's ridiculous! Do you know how many people are starving?"

"If I eat, will it help them?"

Laura gave him another disapproving look to which he reprised with his own objection.

She figured that she should've been more considerate of him. After all, this was his house. He was being a hospitable host by giving her this birthday dinner. Not to mention, he brought her to the hospital. Goodness knows what could have happened to her if he didn't intervened. Laura gave a loud sigh before taking her grumpiness down a notch.

"Eat with me." She ordered in a much gentler tone, leaving the ' _Please'_ unsaid _._

Laura kept her eyes on him until he sat down opposite her. Satisfied, Laura perched herself on the edge of her seat as she filled her plate. She could feel Massimo's eyes on her.

"If you're waiting for me to serve you, you're gonna be waiting all night." She said as she cut the cake.

Massimo chuckled and finally sat down across her. She allowed a satisfied smile lift her lips. He was hesitant as he grab a wine glass for himself and she could tell that he was measuring his movements. Why, she wondered.

If he thought that she didn't notice the fresh abrasion on his knuckles, he thought wrong. Laura got the impression he earned it from a fight. And considering how flawless his face was, it was probable that he won.

" _Don't worry. He got what he deserved."_

Massimo had said earlier and it made her want to ask,

_Did you hurt Aaron?_

If Massimo was telling her the truth— that Aaron drugged her— it still wasn't right to get violent over it. Regardless of how true and good the intentions were.

Still, Laura chose to impart her trust on someone she knew the longest. (Hours plus five years of the lowest level of stalking, being the meter of that trust). Besides, Massimo had every motivation to be genuine, Aaron doesn't. And that's why, when the steel dropped and rolled under the couch, she made no move to retrieve it.

* * *

The awkwardness from the previous hour dissipated. The night progressed as it started; heavy with innominate tension. Afterwards, Massimo followed her to her room. He maintained a safe distance beside her, his scraped hands hidden in his pockets. She had half a mind to point it out and have him apply some antiseptic on it. But she didn't. Laura just assumed it was pride and saved the thought for pondering for later.

"Tha- thank you." She said to break the silence once again. "For last night and the dinner."

He replied beside her, quick and cold. "You're welcome."

"You don't have to walk me back. I'm not gonna steal anything."

"I'm not." He assured her before adding, smug and deadpan. "And I'm sure whatever you can steal, I can replace."

Just as when she thought they were getting along, he had to be rude and snotty. She rolled her eyes and groaned at him. Massimo frowned at her, quipping back. "Is it a Polish custom to roll their eyes on every fact?"

"Is it an Italian custom to be this obnoxious and rub their riches on _everyone_?"

Massimo opened his mouth to retort but she interrupted with a hissing, "Don't answer that." before he could justify another crude answer.

"It was a question." He pointed out in a as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

She bit the inside of her cheek in annoyance. "It was rhetorical."

"Then you shouldn't have said it like a question."

She narrowed her eyes at his aloof, smug expression before stomping off. In a hurried attempt to get away from him, she miscalculated a step and didn't see the slight elevation on the floor. She gave a horrified gasp that echoed down the hallway.

Her heart gave a lurch as she waited to hit the cold, hard stone floor. She closed her eyes on impact.

Except that it was warm—not the predicted cold— that hugged her.

Laura reopened her eyes and instantly felt a pair of strong arms circling her waist. His legs were on either side of her, supporting both their weight. He muttered something angrily in Italian and squinted his eyes at her. The curse vibrated off his chest to hers, making her shiver involuntarily.

He rotated her in his arms and asked her if she was okay. His fingers tilted her jaw up, then side to side, assessing absent wounds. His touch was surprisingly gentle that she felt the air knocked off of her.

"Laura?"

She heard him ask despite the loud thunder outside and of her own heart. She had half a mind to move, cautious of the onslaught of thoughts circuiting her brain. Her body took over and it decided to grip his biceps instead.

His fingers on her jaw had flexed before he cupped her face. Laura maintained her gaze on his suddenly-dark pupils as he traced her lips with his thumbs. And although it never had medical proof, she wanted to kiss the scrapes off his tattooed fingers.

As the stone walls blurred around them, her coherent thoughts did the same. The series of sconce on the walls emitted a dreamlike flicker. The weather was still raging outside. But like everything she's been doing the past few minutes, Laura couldn't be bothered to care.

All her running thoughts came into a stuttering halt when Massimo lowered his head. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and her eyes followed it. His eyes were darting back and forth; from her eyes and lips. Warm gust of air expelled from his lips; she could almost taste the Pinot they shared earlier.

"Laura." He repeated again. This time, his voice was guttural and thick with the same nagging desire she was trying not to feel.

He closed his beautiful, brown, brown eyes.

She held her breath, only mildly aware of the tugging sensation sweeping her stomach. As if hypnotized, her lids began to flutter as well...

The gasp that escaped her jerked her consciousness fully awake. Laura blinked once, twice before the stone arch window came into focus. She squinted as a glaring early beam sift through the Italian cutout. Laura dropped on her back, mouth still ajar from the rush of adrenaline.

It was a dream.

She took a steadying inhale and held a hand to her heart, surprised at how it was beating out of her breast. The silk sheets coiled around her like poison ivy and the sweat pants was sticking to her legs in a very icky way. Laura groaned and peeled off the duvet off her. When the self-induced coolness didn't alleviate her mood, her mind began to wonder why.

There was a knotted tension in her abdomen, her pulse rate elevated, hot flashes flashed over her. She raised her hands and cupped the sides of her face with still-trembling fingers. She was swallowing gulps of air as though she just, just… Laura groaned and held a pillow on her face.

It wasn't like she never had dreams about other men before. (which she had, even during her relationship with Martin). She was a grounded realist and had always deemed dreams exactly as the were, _only_ dreams—trivial and an interlude to reality. She read somewhere that dreams are largely influenced by the last thing people do before they sleep. Or the last people they've talked to. Laura retraced her steps last night.

Massimo walked her back to her room. They were quiet throughout their dinner with the occasional, surface-deep small talk. The tension and silence between them were sharp and charged with an anticipative curiosity.

At least on her part.

And she hated it. Hated that she was curious about him. Hated the fact that she wanted to unravel the mysterious mist obscuring him. Hated how much she's getting sidetracked by the tattoos on his hands that cover his scars. Hated that, even though she might not like it, she wanted to ask him what happened five years ago on the rooftop. But she bit her tongue— a rare occurrence.

 _"Happy birthday, Laura Biel."_ He said to her last night before she could turn around and thank him for dinner. And although she tried to stop herself, she watched him walk away. His arms and hands were rigid on his sides, his shoulders tense. His long strides were purposeful and quick, like he couldn't wait to put as much distance between them.

Laura bit her pillow in frustration and threw it beside her. She allowed her thoughts to run freely for a minute before finally acknowledging the elephant in the room,

Today's gonna be the day she's gonna confront Martin and Bianka.

Laura surveyed the room again; It was still the same state she left last night. Except the rack of colorful clothes and shoes by the door. And her purse. Laura bolted from the bed and reached for it. Her hotel keys were still in here and her wallet, but no phone. She could only imagine the horde of calls and texts Olga sent her the past few days. She'll get an earful, for sure.

"Great." She muttered under her breath.

Laura sighed, got up the bed and to the rack. She skimmed through the hangers, trying to find her own black dress when everything went to shit.

And she found it.

Covered in clear plastic…

In the middle row…

Between two Alexander McQueen dresses…

And in the torn state Massimo emphasized last night. Laura scowled, more to the fact that Massimo only left the hospital tag to spite her.

With renewed ire, Laura snatched the nearest dress and underthings from the rack. She'll return them once she got her things from the hotel. Before she could hop on the shower, she sprinted, locked the door and closed the curtains.

"Seriously, is there a no-bathroom-door policy for the rich?" She mused aloud.

The shower tiles were nippy and stark but the warm water helped her mood. Laura washed days worth of stress off of her. She stayed in the shower until her fingers turned to prunes. She grabbed the new set of clothes, dressed up and ran a brush through her hair before she exited the room.

Laura peeked her head from the door and checked both ends of the hallway. Besides the low murmur within the house, the corridor was drafty, silent and empty. The curtains were open. Blinding sunlight poured from the arched windows lining the corridor. The stone walls that seemed so sinister last night now looked warm and pleasant to touch. She breathed a sigh of relief and began to close the door behind her as silently as she could.

"Signorina?"

Laura jumped and turned around to see, Elena, Massimo's help from last night.

"Hi. Good morning." She greeted with a guilty smile, releasing her hold on the gilded doorknob.

"Why are you sneaking around?" Elena raised an amused and thick eyebrow at her.

_Why was she sneaking around?_

"Don Massimo went out early with Signor Domenico to take care of some business. They will be back shortly." The maid said after a second of silence.

 _"_ Oh, no worries. It's fine." Laura beamed, thankful that she wouldn't have to face him after all. "I have to leave anyways. I've got…" She was about to say "friends" but decided against it. "…My things are at the hotel."

"Yes, _signorina_. I understand." The older woman continued in a modulated voice. "Don Massimo told me that he will drive you to the hotel himself."

"Oh no, no. I'm sure he's very busy. I can find my own way ba—"

"It's alright, s _ignorina_. He will be doing some business there as well." She surmised with finality that reminded her of her grandma. Laura smiled and finally nodded. Satisfied, Elena hobbled past her and led her out. "Breakfast is ready at the patio. The storm's passed and the weather is _bellisima_."

Laura quietly followed the old woman out the house and to the garden visible from her bedroom.

Another friendly-looking butler smiled at her and pulled out her chair. Laura smiled back, unaccustomed to the attention. She turned her head to thank Elena but the old woman was talking to a younger maid. The butler moved around the table, fetching a pitcher of orange juice and poured her a glass.

"Thanks." she said.

The butler lifted the food covers, revealing palatable dishes, making her stomach growl.

" _Bon appetit, Signorina_." The butler spoke for the first time before turning his back and walking back inside the house.

Her eyes browsed through the variety of dishes. From toasts to oatmeal, eggs and sausages, pastries and fresh fruits. Laura timidly grabbed two slices of toast and the jam when she heard someone shout,

"Elena!"

They all turned to see a dark-haired man wearing a business suit walking towards them. He was wearing dark aviators, his arms were wide open in a greeting hug for the elder woman. But before he could approach, he chucked the toothpick he was chewing on to the ground.

The elderly, unfazed, gave the man a stern look. "Signor Domenico, how many times do I have to tell you not to—"

"Ah! My sweet, sweet Elena! You're looking so beautiful today!"

Laura watched as the man— Domenico— gave Elena a sloppy kiss on both cheeks. Elena rolled her eyes but didn't push him away.

The man finally looked at her and grinned down at her. "Ah, Miss Laura Biel. So great to finally meet you." With a lopsided smile, he reached out a hand. "I'm Domenico."

Laura took a moment before shook it. "Hi, how are you?"

"Hungry." Domenico then sat in front of her and began to pile food on his empty plate, shoving bites of it along the way.

"My brother rarely eats breakfast because he always insists on leaving early." He narrated as he buttered his croissant. Then he paused in realization. "Actually, he rarely eats. For him it's a total waste of time. I mean, can you believe him?"

"An active average-sized man should have 2,200-2,800 calories everyday. Lessening the amount is unhealthy. Less food consumption could make them feel light-headed, irritable, and annoying…"

Domenico nodded at her, his mouth full.

"…Maybe that's why he's an asshole, cause he keeps missing meals." She rambled as she began spreading jam on her toast.

At the corner of her eye, Elena threw her a shocked expression. Domenico, who was downing his bacon with juice, snorted, spraying juice on his chin and the table cloth.

Laura stared at the two of them, at Domenico, who was red in the face. "You might be the first one to ever say that. Out loud. In human history." He wiped his chin with tissue and pointed a finger at her. "You've got balls, Laura Biel. And I like you already."

"I have to ask though." He popped a grape into his mouth and leaned back on his chair. His wrists resting on its brass arms. "Do you remember me?"

She knew what he was referring to of course. Laura shook her head and felt a rush of excitement for all her unvoiced questions.

"It's okay. You were a bit… preoccupied." He cleared his throat and gave her a thoughtful look.

"Thank you for that, by the way. I may hate Massimo sometimes but he's fine. A great guy, well, depending on who you ask."

Laura tried not to focus on the last part. So instead, she diverted the conversation.

"What…" she paused, unsure of her next question. "What happened to the other guy? The older one?"

After a beat of silence, Laura looked up and noticed the pertinent look on Domenico's features.

For the first time since meeting him, Domenico looked sad, almost regretful.

He shook his head at her with a small smile that slightly relieved her. "That was our father. He didn't make it."

Laura mentally smacked herself on the head for her own intrusion.

"I'm sorry."

Domenico only shrugged and continued with his breakfast. "So, how are you liking Sicily so far?"

Laura welcomed the attempt of a new topic. She smiled at him and answered truthfully, "I've always loved Sicily. I love how it is the meeting of three seas—"

He nodded in acknowledgment as he chew. "You like the ocean?"

Laura took an insightful inhale and turned to the garden, loving how the fresh breeze. "Who doesn't?"

Domenico waved his fork at her, nodded and smiled, amused. He asked her trivial questions, casual small talk which Laura found convivial. In a weird, unexplainable way, he almost reminded her of Olga when she first met her.

Speaking of Olga, Laura needed to call her. "Domenico?"

"Mmm?"

"By any chance, do you know where my phone is? I have to call home. They might be worried about me."

He swallowed first before speaking. "No, we checked your purse when you came in here. There's no phone."

She nodded grimly. "I must have dropped it at the bar. Or Aaron took it."

"Who's Aaron?" Domenico asked, struggling to keep the food inside his mouth.

"The guy from the bar."

A sense of realization bloomed in his face. "Ah, _that_ guy."

Seeing this might be her chance to know what happened Laura pressed on. "Do you know what happened to him?"

"Don't know." He replied, mouth still full. "But he better not show his face again to Massimo."

The lighthearted conversation went on as Domenico finished almost half the table. Laura already finished her plate minutes ago but remained seated, feeling at ease for the first time in days.

Domenico was frowning at her when he told him that she thinks pineapple on a pizza is a delicacy. Before he could disagree though his phone rang. Domenico wiped his mouth, grabbed an apple from the basket and stood up. He read a message on his phone and said to her,

"It has been an honor, _signorina_. But I have to go."

"Oh, me too." She crouched forward, pushing her chair backwards.

He shook his head and put his palms up. "No, no. Massimo told me to tell you to wait for him."

"Oh, no, no. I've caused enough trouble. I have to leave—"

"Ah, ah, ah." He interrupted. "Elena and I were specifically instructed to keep you here. And that's what we're gonna do. What Massimo says, goes."

Laura folded her eyebrows in disapproval.

"You're free to roam around while you wait for him. And when I come back, we're going to cleanse your palate, Laura Biel. Pineapple on a pizza? What the hell are you thinking."

And he went, kissing Elena on the cheeks again and leaving them alone in the vast garden.

* * *

Massimo leaned his head back on his chair. He pinched the sides of his nose and threw his phone on the desk. He took a giant breath and swiveled his chair to face the empty space of his office.

He just finished a phone call with an old business associate, Osi Burr. The man was an old friend of his father's. Burr handled a number of their hospitality business for the past twenty years. He was looking forward to his retirement next week. Massimo was in a bizarrely good mood again today so he humored him.

The old man's raspy laugh echoed through the speakers as he bid farewell.

_"Addio, Massimo. See you at the Bellagio"_

_"Goodbye Osi."_

Massimo glanced the the clock resting on his desk. It was ten to 12 already. And with Osa quitting, Massimo knew he had to handpick his successor. He didn't trust Domenico since he knew his brother would likely just pick out the dumbest female in the lot. His father always insisted in choosing the right people for the job himself. Massimo has done the same as well ever since. Osa arranged for him to meet the candidates right after lunch.

Massimo felt genuine happiness ran through him again because Mario won't be there. The poor man was suffering from gout and had to stay home for a couple more days.

He swiveled his chair again and turned to the painting above his fireplace. He stared at the dark aquamarine waves enveloping most of the canvas and felt himself relax. He had never considered himself an avid art collector. But he had always appreciated them ever since at a young age. Her mother had turned to painting and music as her health ebbed away. He remembered how she'd paint for hours and his 8-year old self was content watching her in silence. He developed a deeper proclivity for them even more so when she died.

And when his dad died and he took over, the family business progressed. And as it did, Massimo was spending less and less time on the Titan, thus, at sea. And as though to make up for it, he started collecting seascape paintings— a vicarious way for him to feel the water. When word got out that he was collecting, colleagues invited him to several museum exhibitions.

Two years ago, he was in Paris for their European shipment meeting when he first saw the Monet. The painting was beyond beautiful. A 8ft by 12ft masterpiece that reminded him of the Mediterranean, the Titan and her eyes altogether. Even with his heavy influence, it was an arduous process because the painting wasn't for sale. He put the same amount of energy on it, like what he was doing back then when he was still trying to find her.

Massimo sat up and reread the message from his brother. Domenico was trying to lure him into eating breakfast by baiting their guest:

_"She thinks pineapple belongs on a pizza. ON A PIZZA! It's a disgrace, an abomination. Come down here and eat at once!"_

He felt the sudden urge to laugh. One reason was it was the first time Domenico ordered him.

(But Domenico must've learned his mistake because he followed up immediately with another message: " _Or not_ _. Up to you.")_

And two, Pineapples on a pizza?

_Laura,_ _really_ _?_

Massimo felt the heady and exhilarating thrill he felt when he woke up this morning again. It was a feeling similar to waking up on a Christmas morning. Or more recently, the days when Mario couldn't go to work due to some elderly limb restrictions. Add them both together then multiply it thousandfold. That's how great he felt.

He got up and exited his office to get ready for the day, oblivious to the slight spring to his every step.

The thought of spending if only a small amount of time with Laura makes him giddier and more lightheaded. Her birthday dinner last night was quiet and yet surprisingly pleasant. (Even with his nerves going off the charts all night.) There was no doubt that he wanted to do it again. But he couldn't think of a way, the words to ask her. Once again, he found himself disgusted at himself on how pathetic he was being.

 _"He's_ _just_ _a woman."_ Mario's constant pessimistic and disapproving voice rung through his brain again.

Massimo continued his way towards his room. But he stopped, dumbfounded when he heard a series of coordinated melody. A vivid, dream-like sound, something he'd never thought he'd hear again. His ears perked up, heart beating fast, palms sweaty, knees slightly buckling.

A flashback played before his eyes; he was a kid again. His mother was wearing a loose night gown and they're sitting by the piano. Even with her frail complexion, she was beaming. Her long fingers pressing the black and white keys beautifully. A memory from very long time ago, yet never forgotten.

His feet quietly led him to the drawing room. The piano was out of tune due to years of disuse but the sound was still unmistakably beautiful. The huge French doors were ajar, allowing him a peek of the person playing his late mom's favorite piece.

Massimo was overwhelmed with a million emotions when he saw Laura sitting on the piano bench. She was wearing a halter red dress, the dress he bought her and she was barefoot. Her wedge shoes lie beside the bench. To add to the already picturesque allure, a golden ray of sunlight beamed from the skylight above. She had her leg stretched thus exposed while she stepped on the pedals. She had her eyes closed as her fingers danced effortlessly on the dusty ivory. She looked so happy, carefree and… and…

_Beautiful._

A small ache started forming in his chest, like a hairline fracture breaking him apart. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, his lungs felt like it was running low on oxygen, filling in water. Massimo wondered if this was how drowning felt like.

Laura hit a wrong note. The discordant note echoed through the room. She cringed, opening her eyes and adjusting her fingers. She hummed and played with different keys, trying to find the right keys. Massimo ogled, marveling at her long, slender fingers.

The melody escalated louder as he felt her confidence grew. She was getting lost in the music, still and obviously oblivous to him.

"Holy shit, that piano is still working?!" Out of nowhere, he heard Domenico exclaimed.

"Shit!" Massimo jumped, knocking the huge vase on the nearby table. The movement pushed him forward that the doors concealing them widened and opened.

The music stopped mid-note and Massimo heard the squeak of the bench against the marble. He stood up, ceramic vase in hand and tried to look anything but guilty.

Domenico, the ingrate that he was, walked into the room with his narcissistic confidence. An irritating and smug smirk on his little face. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in a humorous scolding manner. Laura stood at the center of the room, a slight pink blush also staining her pale cheeks. Massimo threw daggers in his brother's direction.

"I-uh…" she stammered and Massimo noted that this was the first time he actually saw her embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I just saw someone walk out of here and I saw the piano and I'm sorry I shouldn't have."

_Was she kidding?_

He could listen to her play all day long.

"Don't apologize." he blurted out. "You played beautifully."

He didn't know who was more embarrassed; him, Laura or Domenico. His brother pulled his face in a disbelieving cringe, the side of his face twisted with disgust or amusement. Massimo scowled at him. _Imbecile._

Massimo shoved the ceramic vase on his hands. Surprised, Domenico struggled with the weight and gave a loud "oomf!"

"I'll see you both in the car. Twenty minutes." He muttered with his remaining dignity and turned to leave.

"I've never seen him blush before, Biel. You should be proud of yourself."

Massimo heard Domenico gloat, and felt his neck grow a whole lot hotter.


	6. Ebb and Flow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes aren't deceiving you. Back to back chapters hunneys!!!

* * *

#  **EBB and FLOW**

This expression refers to the movement of the sea away from and towards the land.

* * *

The car ride back to the city was silent, except for the light pitter patter of the rain against the windows. They were en route to the Bellagio to meet Osi for lunch. Laura agreed to go with them without much fuss, surprising him in the process.

Though he tried to focus on the road or the tasks that await him in the city, Massimo found himself watching her at the corner of his eye.

She was hesitant, insecure of her own excitement as they drive through the scenery. But when they passed by a ,clearing revealing a magnificent view of Mount Etna, she sat forward. Her lips parted as she devoured the sight. Massimo suppressed a chuckle. He hid his smile by leaning his elbow on his door and looking out his own window.

May be he could take her himself and see the sights.

"Have you been to Mongibello, Laura Biel?" Domenico queried, finally breaking the silence in the car.

His eyes met hers for a second before she turned to Domenico, through the rearview mirror.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Me and my friends... We're supposed to go a few years ago. But my boy—." She stopped herself and cleared her throat. Domenico shifted in the front seat and turned to them.

"—One of us got sick. So I had to cancel it. "

"Shame. May be you could go now. Massimo knows a lot of people in the tourist sector in Sicily. He could help you out."

Massimo didn't know if he'd be impressed or annoyed at Domenico for talking him up. To appear nonchalant he grabbed his phone and read his messages.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm sure _Don Massimo_ is busy. I wouldn't wanna bother him."

The way he said his title was full of sarcasm and derision that he couldn't help but smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure he won't mind." Domenico allayed and that's when he met his brother's eyes. The moron wriggled his eyebrows at him before turning back in his seat.

"If you don't mind me asking, what is it you do, _Don Massimo_?"

There it was again, the same besmirching tone of his name. It seemed like the awkwardness from this morning has passed and they're back to this gentle ribbing. He wouldn't disappoint her.

"Stuff."

Laura sat straighter in her seat and half turned to face him, a woman with a mission. A whiff of her floral perfume enveloped the interior of the car as she did so. Massimo braced himself for what she was about to say next.

"Can't you specify?"

"It's tedious."

She cinched her lips together, which Massimo learnt was her annoyed look.

"Try me."

Massimo tucked his phone inside his pocket and answered. "Think of it like an ecosystem. I'm the giant tree, but instead of me doing all the hard work, they do it for me. Like an ant colony, a beehive."

Laura regarded him for a second before, "A… beehive?"

"Of a sort." He dismissed, suspicious of the playful glint in her eyes. "It's the simpler explanation."

Her eyes twinkled with unprecedented humor; her lips, curled. "So, if it's like a beehive, then you're the… You're the _queen_?"

Domenico doubled over with mirth, his laugh pealing over the interior of the car. Alek, who was their designated driver, coughed to cover his laughter. Massimo frowned at them and got defensive. "You're taking it out of context."

"Taking it out of context? How so?" She wasn't hiding her amusement now. "You're giving me analogies, so I gave one back."

"That's not-" he trailed off when she raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm—"

He glared at her before putting his sunglasses on and donning his headset. He leaned his head on the chair and closed his eyes. In front of him, Domenico regained himself and snickered.

"So, Laura, you're from Poland, yah?" Nico started.

Throughout the rest of the ride, he heard them talk about simple stuff. Massimo feigned sleep, but kept his headphones mute. Lest he misses something important.

She confirmed his suspicion that she was here for her birthday weekend. Laura left out the part where her best friend and fiancé. She had her itinerary panned out as Nico shared trivia and town gossip on each spot. Massimo joined in too, adding snide comments at his leisure.

Laura took it all in, seeming and deeply interested with some of the town crap Nico's feeding her. It made him wonder if she was prolonging her vacation. He hoped she will. The thought of her leaving evoked a looming sense of dread on his whole body.

"—So, you know everyone in town?"

"And everyone knows us" Domenico boasted.

"Do you know the patron of Baia Verde?"

Massimo snapped his head to hers and joined the conversation. "Why?"

Taken aback by his sudden involvement again, Laura looked at him. "The hotel manager at Baia Verde told me that the patron wanted to have dinner with me."

"Fatty Uncle Osi?" Nico pivoted in his seat to him and Laura again. "Why would he do that?"

"You know him?"

"I'm meeting him where we're going. You can ask him yourself." He said as they pulled up at the lobby of the Bellagio.

To be honest, he was a little curious himself. Why would Osi wanna meet Laura?

The restaurant owner greeted them at the valet. His bodyguards immediately went to their aid, their eyes scanning over the lot. Laura appeared behind him and Nico beside him.

"Good afternoon Signor Torricelli. Welcome back." The woman in a pantsuit greeted him in the lobby, bowing as she did so.

Massimo unbuttoned his sport jacket and removed his glasses. "Is he here yet?"

"No, sir. But he reserved your usual table at the VIP room."

He nodded in acknowledgment and shoot a sideway glance at Laura who was already looking at him.

"This way."

Laura kept a safe space behind Massimo and Domenico. She tried not to gawk at the gold inlays covering the walls and ceilings of the interior. The main hall prattled with conversations and utensil hubbubs. The servers, dressed in white and black ensembles ran back and forth. Primly-dressed people manned the round tables that comprised the ballroom.

When Massimo told her that they had to make a stop for a quick chitchat with a family friend, she agreed without reservation. Mainly because she didn't want to back yet and face Bianka and Martin. She knew she was being a coward by stalling the inevitable. But maybe by delaying it a little bit longer would give her ample time to gain the courage she needed. She direly hoped it would.

The beautiful woman led the three of them to the back corner of the establishment.

The redhead, Laura noticed, was making googly eyes to an ignorant Massimo. When she made a joke about the tourists, they have today, Massimo kept a straight face, unfazed.

Unsuccessful in her attempt, the woman, turned to her and spoke in a fluent Italian.

Before Laura could say something, Massimo supplied in tight, cold tone,

"She's my guest."

"Ah, _guest._ " She spat the last word with relief. Her smile was fake and forced, a sort of rude glint sparking her dark eyes.

Laura reciprocated with her own.

The back room could be a restaurant on its own. The floor to ceiling windows opened to a balcony where the Mediterranean sea was, a blanket of blue and green and perfection. A ten-seater dining table sat in the center of the room. One of Massimo's guards stood by the arch at the end of the room, hands clasped in front of him.

"I'll send the servers Don Torricelli at once."

Massimo didn't reply and instead fluffed the newspaper in front of him. One of the waiters that appeared out of nowhere, pulled Laura's seat for her.

"Grazie."

" _Prego, Signorina._ "

As she sat down, she met Massimo's eyes again. But as soon as she did, Massimo turned to his newspaper again. Domenico disappeared to the hallways, his phone at hand.

After a few moments of silence, Massimo said behind his newspaper. "We won't be long."

"I don't mind." She replied truthfully.

"We could go after we talked to Osi."

Although she knew he can't see her, she nodded.

"Domenico told me you were looking for your phone."

"I am. Have you seen it?"

Massimo folded the paper and set it aside. "No. You don't remember where you put it?"

She shook her head. "I must have dropped it at the hotel or at the bar, but I'm not–" she stopped when Massimo gave her a look of resignation. But pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

"People might be wondering where you might be right now."

The act surprised her; but not more than him she noted with incredulity. He straightened up when she accepted it. After leaving a short voicemail to her mom, she asked, almost regretfully.

"Can I make another call?"

Massimo gave her a curt nod and unfolded the newspaper again. Although, this time he didn't let the whole thing cover his whole face.

Laura dialed her own phone number, pressed the phone on her ear and waited. After three more tries of consequent line disconnection, she gave up.

"Thanks." She said as she handed him his phone back. "But after almost two days the battery might be empty."

"You're staying at Baia Verde, right?"

"Yes, but I had it before I left. I was sure—"

Massimo pressed the phone back to his ear and spoke in Italian. Laura found herself staring at him again, though this time, she was trying to find out what he was saying. After what sounded like instructions, Massimo returned his gaze to her. His dark eyes scrutinized her; a stronger sense of disapproval emanated from them. But during a few moments of mindless gander, Laura saw a smidge of tenderness beneath the tough surface.

He kept talking on the phone. His eloquence was regal and downright imperious, like you wouldn't dare say no to him. Laura heard the name of the bar she went to on the eve of her birthday, the time. The distant murmur continued from the end of the line. At one point, Massimo frowned, his intonation turned more authoritative. He turned to her and she's gotta hand it to herself for appearing attentive.

"What phone are you using?"

"It's a Samsung."

He relayed the information on his phone, nodded and hung up.

"They found it." He trailed off and waved at the waiter who arrived in the room.

"What? Where?!"

"At the bar. They're going to deliver it here." He answered dismissively.

"How di—" she stopped when he threw her an impatient and crude glare. Laura closed her mouth and felt the gnawing embarrassment creep up to her. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"So…" she started. "What do you do, for real?" Because for starters, she really was curious.

"Why? So, you can make fun of me?" He scowled, flapping his newspaper so he can read the next page.

Laura bit her lip to prevent the smile from pushing through. "That wasn't my intention."

With a resigned sigh, Massimo finally put his papers aside, leaned on his chair and tapped his finger on the wood. "What do you wanna know?"

"What sector do you work on?"

He was quick with his answer that it seemed almost illegal. "Lots of things."

"Like?"

Massimo shrugged. "Airports, restaurants, resorts, hotels, museums—"

"Oh, don't be modest, bro." Domenico suddenly interrupted from the door. He walked towards them and sat on Massimo's right, across her. "He practically owns Sicily."

Laura didn't know how to react to that without a grimace. Not that she hated rich people, she's just wary of them. But then again, she asked them, so it really was self-inflicted annoyance.

"You're brothers, so that makes you too."

Domenico laughed through his glass while Massimo remained passive.

"We're half- brothers. I didn't know my mother." Domenico offered, looking his cheery self. "And there's a lot of pressure being the oldest in the family. So, I'm over the moon to have had dodged that bullet. Besides…" Domenico threw his brother a triumphant proud smirk.

"He's good at it."

Massimo raised a crude brow at his brother, to which Domenico winked. Though he tried to hide it with his scowls of disapproval, Laura knew Massimo had a deep respect for his brother. As Domenico had for him.

The easy conversation went on even as the food started arriving. Domenico maintained most of it. Throughout the meal, Massimo told him a couple of times to shut up. Domenico would ignore him and irate him even further by chewing with his mouth open. And Laura could only laugh.

As they were finishing their dessert, four men in dark suits came. Massimo sat straighter and Domenico swallowed the last bit of his cake and pushed his chair backwards.

"Laura, they might need a moment."

"Of course." She wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood up.

"It won't take long."

She nodded at Massimo who nodded back. Domenico went out with her and they went to the other wing, one of Massimo's guards walked nearby.

"Is he necessary?" She whispered to Domenico.

"One thing you have to know about my brother is that he's cautious."

"Why does he need to be though?"

Domenico didn't answer and instead pulled the French doors open for her, revealing the adjacent botanical garden. This side of the restaurant was packed with families, couples, tourists. Their voices rang through venue, enlivening the already vibrant day. They walked around, Domenico pulled his phone out and smiled apologetically at her. He went back inside. The body guard maintained a good distance from her as she trot around the garden.

It had been the most beautiful day so far. Laura inhaled the rustic air and basked in the warm rays of the sun. The hedges bloomed with various leaves. Flowers decorated the verdant shrubbery of the place. The discordant voices of the crowd faded away as she entered a more intimate setting— another open space lined with romantic gazebos. Laura only had little moment to appreciate them when she noticed a couple sitting on her far left.

Biank and Martin.

They're here.

They were sitting opposite each other, their hands clasped atop the table. Bianka was looking down, looking somber for the first she knew her. Martin looked as though she was consoling her, his thumb rubbing her knuckles.

Laura stood very still, her limbs unbelievably cold and rigid. She clenched her fists and swallowed the rising bile from her stomach. She was ready to turn around, walk away when a loud radio crack revealed her solitary. Massimo's guard pressed his earpiece and talked in rush Italian.

The two snapped their heads in her direction and Laura heard Bianka's choking gasp:

"Laura."

They pulled apart, as if electrified. Laura braced herself and remained her ground.

_This was gonna happen sooner or later, so why stop it now?_

Her nana had always been a fan of cheesy romantic dramas. And as a form of their bonding she tolerated it and even watched a couple of them with her.

She remembered that this exact scenario have been the turning point of those cliche stories. And Laura could ascertain that this was nothing close to those trashy episodes.

This was horrible by a thousandfold, millionth-fold .

"Bianka. Martin." She greeted as unfeeling as she can. Bianka's eyes were wet and red rimmed as she rushed in to hug her, Laura kept her arms by her side.

"We've been looking everywhere for you!" Martin stated in a panic voice. "Where have you been, honey?" He bent to hiss her but she held her hand out.

"Around. But don't let me spoil your fun." She plastered a sarcastic, shaky smile and wheeled around to leave.

"What are you talking about?" Martin lied to her face. "I came here as a surprise for you!"

Laura held on to the tiniest fabric of control she still had and looked over to Bianka. Her eyes watering with guilt and regret.

Martin gulped and sweat started rolling the the top of his bald head. Looking at him now, Laura wondered what ever possessed her to waste a good five years of her life with him. What was she thinking? Better yet, what was Bianka thinking?

She turned to Bianka who was frisking her eyes over her body… or her dress. Bianka kept her distance which was no problem with her. She faced her friend and held her eyes.

That was when Laura finally allowed her voice to shake a little. "I went looking for you all night. I waited at the restaurant. I asked the Spa you went to. I was worried about you. So, I asked the hotel manager to check the CCTV cameras and I saw everything. So there's no point lying to me. You know me, Bianka."

"Wh… What?" Bianka croaked.

"Honey, you know they can edit that stuff. You don't know anything about technology." Martin nervously chuckled and tried to put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me Martin." She hissed but kept her eyes on her friend whose already had tears running down her face.

"Laura, I'm so—"

"You were my best friend, Bianka. And I trusted you."

Bianka started sobbing, attracting a number of stares from the few people around. Martin stood like a stone beside Bianka, mute and sweating, his eyes wider than saucers.

She was about to turn and walk away, when she felt her ex-fiancé's sweaty palm on her wrist.

That's when she finally burst.

Laura's knee hitched up voluntarily and made a crunching, most satisfying sound on Martin's groin. The resounding gasps echoed from around her. Bianka stopped crying for a minute, her wet eyes darted from hers and a wailing Martin on the grass.

After one last look at her exes, she turned around and saw Massimo's guard, watching them with a stoic expression.

"Don't follow me. I need to be alone." She pleaded, her watery eyes reflecting on the man's aviators.

* * *

"Why are we in the balcony again?" Massimo asked the older man sitting across him.

"Oh come on, f _iglio_! We could all use the fresh air." The older man ejaculated with unbridled and annoying enthusiasm.

"It's not like there isn't air inside. Besides, you're smoking. You can't exactly call it fresh anymore." He quipped, making the older man laugh again.

Though, if Massimo was being honest with himself, he didn't mind the heat. Rather, he found it… _pleasant_ , which was uncommon for him. He realized, all too well, that on a normal, pre-Laura Biel- day, he would've minded the heat. But, alas. Massimo felt that anticipative tic in his bones again. Akin to the fat kid baking chocolate cake with his mom, the pubescent during his first sail, that first dive to the Mediterranean. It was all pressuring him to get the job done as quickly as possible.

"A little birdie told me you've found her." The gentleman prodded, an obvious glee levitating his voice.

Massimo forced himself not to look up from his task. But replied all the same.

"Did that little birdie go by the name Domenico?" He deadpanned, skimming the last pages that needed his signatures.

Osi Burr chuckled, exuding smoke out his mouth and nose.

Like Mario, Osi wasn't daunted by his innate sense of apathy. Which Massimo didn't mind. Contrary to what they called him when he and Nico were kids, Osi Burr was a lean man. Tall but not taller than him. His beard was standard and trimmed like any Italian man. He was wearing a gray suit with a black Windsor knotted tie. The occasional Marlboro dangled between his fingers.

"News travel fast in this country, Massimo."

Massimo snorted just as his eyes gravitated towards the lower garden, to the lady in a red dress, more specifically. Laura was walking towards the adjoined building, her back to the balcony where they were at. Carlito was hovering behind her. Her delicate fingers glided the top hedgerow as she walked, her eyes and body set forward. Massimo wondered if she was aware of what she was doing. He remembered her playing his mom's piano, how lost and, at the same time, liberated she looked. He didn't need to see her face in both scenarios to see the smile that was growing on her face.

In front of him, Osi pivoted in his seat and followed his line of sight. And for his mindless ogling, Massimo didn't see the older man's obvious glee. Not until he heard the other man crooned, "Ah." did Massimo clear his throat and return to his papers. Minutes of silence passed, Massimo regained some focus but still he felt Osi's eyes burning on him. He asked a couple of questions to which Osi answered concisely, leaving no excuse for Massimo to divert to another topic. Sometimes he wished that Osi wasn't as inquisitive and persistent as his father.

_Where is that damn, big-mouthed brother of his when he needs him?_

"What's her name?" Osi finally asked, his lips pursed and amused.

Massimo finally looked up from the contract he's been studying to reprimand, "Can you focus, uncle?"

Osi had smirked before stubbing out his third cigarette. The man threw back his question to him with more joy he had ever seen in him. "Can you?"

Massimo slid the finished papers back to him and was ready to retort with his usual snark when a flurry of red dress captured his attention again. He was gonna ignore her for once. He swore he did. Massimo didn't want to stain his staunch reputation even more than he did the past five years. But he saw her contorted expression as she walked back to their wing. Her hand hastily wiping away tears on her pale face.

He frowned and felt that uneasiness in his chest again. Osi turned in his seat again and pulled another cigarette from his breast pocket. Laura had disappeared below them and he was craning his neck, his hands on both arm rests of his seat, trying to see where she went.

"Go, Massimo. We're almost done here anyway." Osi said with an understanding chuckle.

Massimo spared him another glance, before he stood up, grabbed his jacket and exited their room.

He ran past the stairs and heard the huge doors opening. The tumultuous conversations had reechoed inside the hall before it became muted again. Massimo saw Carlito entering the threshold, sweating.

"What happened?" Massimo almost shouted at him.

"She saw them. Atnos and Zalewski."

_Fuck!_

For a moment, all he wanted to do was barge outside and face Zalewski himself. Punch the living daylights out of him and tie his feet to the Titan and drag him across the Mediterranean. His hands shook with anticipative violence at the thought. But to more important things, first.

"Where is she?" Massimo turned on his spot, like a dog chasing his tail.

"I'm sorry, Sir. She didn't want me to follow her and I was holding Atnos back. She was trying to follow Signora Laura as well. Domenico arrived and he's talking to them right now."

He almost sighed with pride and relief. If Domenico was "talking" to them now, it was good as done. Not for Atnos and Zalewski anyway.

"She can't be far." He assured himself. "Check the exits. Two of you, find Angie and have her check the cameras. Carlito, check the car. I'm gonna go this way." He gestured to his men who arrived behind him.

The building had two floor with over ten rooms for private functions. Massimo checked every door before coming upon an slightly opened one. A drawing room cramped between the kitchen and a smaller and deserted reception area. Sheets of blankets covered the furniture. Dust and cobwebs smothered every crook and cranny. A large covered centerpiece stood on the center of the room; the unmistakable body of a baby grand. Laura was leaning against the windowsill, her eyes trained outside the view.

The door creaked as he entered and Laura perked up, swiftly wiping away her tears. She said something in her language. Massimo took a cautious step towards her. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed yet, it was still most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He averted his eyes and without thinking, ambled towards the piano bench. Massimo pulled the seat, intertwined his hands and rested it on the lid. They were both quiet, yet he could feel her eyes on him.

"What are you doing here?" She sniffed, her tone accusatory, angry, _hurt_. It made him want to rip things apart. Particularly, Zalewski's. Yet, there was larger part of him that triumphed over his thirst for vengeance. It was new to him, this inkling, a penchant need to just… be there for her. Console her. Be a _friend._

He struggled with words—as he always seemed to be in front of her. Massimo opened the fallboard and let a finger dip on the key. The piano made a churning sound that reverberated across the room. Massimo felt the smooth surface against his fingertips as he grabble the notes. It had been some time; he was rusty. He kept hitting bad notes over and over again, kept pausing before each bridge. But he didn't look up to see her reaction. His fingers glissaded over the ivory. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the notes his mom had played a long time ago. Notes that Laura played and emulated not only hours ago. His tattooed fingers moved across the black and white keys. The ebb and flow of the broken piece hung in the air between them. Massimo was still aware of her; her sigh felt almost a relief to him.

"Einaudi's Nuvole Bianche." He blurted out, his eyes, still trained on the keys. "My mother used to play it all the time. It was my lullaby when I was a kid. I couldn't sleep unless she played it for me." He shared, his heart running off his chest at his own revelation. Massimo had never talked about his mother since… since… it happened. But as he pressed the keys, the words kept coming.

"She was a beautiful spirit. I remember everyone would stop when she enters a room."

He heard her light footsteps as she approach the piano. But he continued playing.

"What happened?" Laura asked, her voice was so quiet it made him even more nervous.

"Leukemia. I was nine."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your doing." He consoled, his tone surprisingly soft and gentle, so _un-Massimo_.

A beat.

He still kept messing up the notes but he still tried to finish the piece.

"You played it just like she did." Massimo didn't dare raise his eyes. He was afraid of what he'll see in hers, of what she'll see in his.

Massimo hit the last notes without flourish and finally looked at her. The last notes rang in the air between them. She blinked at him, her eyes wide and a tamer shade of teal. There was the nagging ache in his chest again. But this time, it was more out of nervousness and uncertainty.

"Thank you, Massimo."

"You're welcome, Laura." He almost whispered.

Another silence.

Something tender and affectionate befogged her eyes and he felt his breath stutter. Even more so when she did what she did next.

"For the record, you played it beautifully too. Even with the wrong notes. 

The corners of her lips upturned in a genuine and soft smile. Her cheeks swelled, the corners of her eyes wrinkled. Her nose and cheeks were still red from her crying minutes ago. It was the kind of smile he had never been at the receiving end of. It was a smile that made him feel like he could be… _good_ , honest, gentle and everything else between. And then all he could think about was how to frame this moment. How to keep them hidden in a world full of cruelty and greed, how to keep that smile on her face. He'd do anything to keep that smile on her face.

"I'm guessing your mother taught you?" Laura spoke and it broke him out of his reverie.

"Uh… yeah." He recovered, feeling bashful all of a sudden. "But I wasn't the best student. You?" He chuckled, looking down at the keys.

"My grandma taught me." She chirped and it delighted him, how the topic made her light up. All her worries and stress abated. In that moment, Massimo forgot why he was mad at in the first place. "She used to take me. She played music in dance studios, you see."

He never thought that something so trivial made him feel like jumping to the moon. "Was she good?"

"She was _really_ good." She boasted good-heartedly. "I remember how I almost gave up playing this piece. I've been practicing it for many, many months and still couldn't play it right. But she helped me, she was very patient. It was the last piece she taught me."

"What was the title?"

"It was a classic Yiruma, called the 'Do You?'"

He looked at her, bewildered.

"You've never heard of it?" She asked.

"No."

Laura rounded the piano, almost instinctively. But she halted before she could sit beside him.

"Can I?"

Massimo moved to give her space. She started the melody, the structure and movement of the first few notes enthralled him. But not more than how her fingers skate through the keys. It was almost therapeutic.

Her thighs brushed against his as she stepped on the pedal. She smelled like lavender, her body warm and astral. He was worried that she could hear his heart beating out of his chest if she stopped playing. Massimo focused on her fingers again and was elated to find the goosebumps rising from her skin.

Was she affected by their closeness as he was?

But he mentally chastised himself for her own wishful thinking.

"—Something like that." She said as she abruptly finished, her eyes looking anywhere but him.

"It—"

A slow clap coming from the doorway interrupted them. They turned in their seats and found Osi leaning against the door way. His expression nothing short of amused.

The scowl made itself on his face again. Laura darted her eyes to and fro between them. But then she gasped. It was his turn to look at them back and forth. Laura appeared to be flustered and Osi looked like he won his first poker game.

"Mr. Osano" Laura greeted, standing up. Massimo did too, his confusion making him irritated.

"Laura Biel." Osi stated, his arms wide open as he approached them. "Finally a face to the name."

Massimo stood, dumbfounded as Laura extended her hand. Osi bent down and covered it with his own.

"Such pleasure. Such pleasure. Finally."

"Pleasure is all mine, Sir."

"What is happening?" Massimo finally interrupted, his tone impatient. "You two know each other?"

Laura decided to put him out of his misery. "He's my boss's boss's boss."

"And she's my top pick as successor. Saved me the trip to Poland." Osi crowed, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay? Nay? Let me know. Shall I continue? 
> 
> If you are interested, leave a comment down below. A simple YES would be so encouraging.
> 
> Also, I am not a writer. Nor is English my first language. Feel free to correct me for any grammatical errors. :)


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